EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

[aionmods]

The Empty Throne

DESCENT

Nearly two weeks after being dragged from shrine caverns, you hear along the grapevine that the "the throne room is complete." It doesn't take long to figure out what that means; the ritual grounds that you have been hearing mention of are finally prepared, and it's only a short while before you are once again being gathered together for travel. As a small mercy, at least this time the journey is short.

Through a passage that has been blocked by a gathering of soldiers for the entire length of your stay, a stairway is revealed to you. It leads deep into the ruins, through unfamiliar structures and into the bowels of the earth. Though your feel your are mostly going downward, the walk is still long on account of how many stairs their are, and the soldiers escorting you are restless. They are now being led by the stray, mask wearing Achamites that have been accompanying the group till now, silently observing. Whatever place this is, it seems that they now hold court.

Funneled into the chambers below, you are greeted by a massive, domed enclosure of stone. Positioned around its circular radius are twelve thrones in various states of disrepair, sized as if meant to seat giants. The backs of these thrones all differ slightly in design, though most have great cleaves of stone broken loose from their architecture, as if subjected to some great cataclysm. Each is engraved with a sigil, though some have been obscured by the destruction wrought. The throne closest to the entrance has been almost entirely demolished, making it impossible to glean much about.

The dome's ceiling appears to be hundreds of feet tall at its apex, its smooth surface disrupted by stalactites that puncture through its form like teeth. As a result, many chunks of the original structure seem to have cracked and collapsed in to the floor below. When examined closely, these fragments of the domed ceiling seem to be made of a material strangely reflective in quality, though caked in many years of dirt and grime. If large enough sections are cleaned, patterns may emerge, revealing designs that look almost like star maps. The floor beneath your feet as a similar, but subtly different quality, covered in wreckage and ruin but can be cleaned to reveal complex patterns of intersecting lines.

A careful eye will indicate that these lines all lead towards the center of the room - the one space that has been cleared and scrubbed prior to your arrival. Here, the lines converge, with carefully preserved marking in the stone that bely increasing levels of runic complexity the closer you look. This is where the ritual will be held, you are told.

THE RITUAL

There is not much time to regain your bearings before you are being shuffled forth towards the ritual space; no, all the waiting has already been done. Under the command of the smaller group of Achamites, the Hylicians will make heavy use of the whips in leading everyone to their places along the rune-inscribed circle. Before that, however, small cuts will be made to each prisoner with an athame, either on their hand or arm. With a sharp, burning sensation in the afflicted skin, these cuts will spread into wounds reflecting the image of one of the eleven sigils displayed on the thrones encircling the group, and matching the shrine they were originally pulled from.

With this accomplished, they can finally be taken into the circle. With a design comprised of four triangles overlapping, the design of an open eye carved at its center, all prisoners will be led to separates points on its design where the lines cross. Seemingly arranged by their shrine sigil to be closest to whatever throne represents them, they will be brought to their designated positions one by one. Any attempts to flee or disrupt the process will be dealt with swiftly and harshly, exacerbated by the increasing levels of paranoia and fear in the soldiers themselves. Whatever is being done here, they don't seem happy to involved with it either.

When everyone is in place, the seeming master of ceremonies will finally emerge. A dark haired woman will appear from the shadows, motes of golden light fluttering about her otherwise darkness-clad visage. Moving towards the center of the circle, she will stand over the marking of the eye and begin working her magicks. As if on cue, the soldiers will withdraw any remaining whips and scurry to the outside of the circle, only for new bonds of ethereal energy to lash out of the ritual circle itself, binding each and every prisoner and dragging them down to their knees. Among the soldiers, you can hear mutterings identifying this woman as "the Aion."

"Come," she says to the coterie of robed Achamites, who will approach the circle with an assortment of vials collected into cases. There is enough for each prisoner to be given a drink, and so they will; a vial of abyssal liquid will be forced into each one of your throats, no matter how uncomfortably it must be done. While no less ruthless, the Achamites have a different way about them as they work, forcing themselves upon you with a strange familiarity that feels more akin to a mother forcing their child to take medicine than the suspicious hostility of the soldiers. As the foul liquid touches your tongue, it takes on a consistency almost like a living thing, crawling down your throat even if you refuse to swallow, all while the Achamites stroke your hair and make saccharine assurances.

Once all the prisoners have been fed their vial, the Achamamites too will retreat from the circle - all except for one. Joining 'the Aion' at the center, the two of them will begin enacting a planned ceremony of sorts, that culminates in the following scene:

The Achamite kneels before the Aion, lifting their masked face to meet their dark gaze. They speak, in practiced tones.

"To the Kenoma my body, to the Kenoma my soul."

In response, the Aion holds the Achamite's face between their hands in almost a loving gesture. She speaks softly:

"By the blood of the Martyr, I accept your sacrifice."

From the Aion's hands a darkness spreads across the Achamite's body, as if they are melting and dissolving on a cellular level. She kneels along with them, cradling them as their body breaks down, pooling in a void-black liquid around their knees. It drains into the lines of the ritual circle, surging out towards the prisoners.

Within moments, the ritual is complete.

KENOMA SICKNESS

As this dark power surges throughout the ritual circle, you will find yourself almost consumed by the tide. Whatever foul creation you were forced to swallow wakes within your chest, and you can feel it move within your veins, inside you lungs, behind your eyes. As quickly as it begins, the flood of darkness washes over you, but not without leaving you stained.

Something has changed in its wake. As you return to your senses, you will notice the magical bonds of the circle have fallen away, leaving you free to move; for once, the soldiers will not move to lead or restrain you. Instead, the Hylicians warily back away from the ritual space, retreating towards the only path upwards, where they form a defensive line. The Achamites that linger make a series of ritual gestures, praying in voices too soft to hear. The Aion woman stands in the center, her hands blackened with residue from the person you just watched fall to pieces in her arms.

"You will be given time to find your truth," she says. "Use it well."

As you recover from the experience enough to stand, she and her Achamite entourage are already retreating to join the Hylician guard. Gradually, your situation will become clear: they intend to keep your trapped down here. However, it will not be the same as when you waited before. Instead, the soldiers simply intend to block your only exit out, and otherwise leave you free to roam the full diameter of the throne room, seemingly free to do whatever you want as long as it isn't trying to break free of the cavern's confines. Each day, they will offer to their prisoners a limit supply of food, water, and firewood, but nothing more. Beyond that, you only have your increasingly dirty white robes and the same bedrolls as before.

❖ COMMUNION
The first change you will experience is an itching darkness in your mind, like a psychic wound that is becoming infected. The sort of thoughts you would normally try to force down become increasingly hard to resist; despair, hatred, and fear will plague you, and requiring great feats of will to silence even temporarily. Phantoms of the things you'd rather forget will become a constant companion, all while a presence seems to whisper: when you accept your fate, the pain will stop.

Worse than this, the darkness of your mind may not remain private. As if awakened by the ritual, your empathetic sense has become impossibly strong, to the point that you feel the broadcasted emotions and thoughts of others, and in turn, your darkest thoughts will be psychically projected to others with a volume proportional to the intensity with which you feel them. This effect is most potent between those sharing Legacy, with the capacity for their identities to become momentarily confused. In all cases, this connection may bleed into your dreams, or manifest as hallucinations.

❖ TRANSFORMATION
Yet, your mind is not the only thing that ails. In proportion to the strength of your emotions, your body may begin changing to match your state of mind. Physical transformations akin to those mentioned here will begin to manifest, themed to your inner suffering and the most negative aspects of your self conception. These alterations may shift from moment to moment, depending on the turbulence of your emotional state. They may or may not be painful.

❖ AFFLICTION
Along with the above effects, characters may also experience various more mundane ailments; essentially anything traditionally associated with illness could fit. Weakness, nausea, body aches, and chills are all common options. Along with this, void-black ooze may start to trickle from virtually any orifice. While it may stain clothing and skin, the material itself will dissipate after a few minutes in a manner reminiscent of ectoplasm. This effect may also appear around your Shard, as if the stone itself has begun to bleed.

RESISTANCE

Even as the Kenoma threatens to overwhelm you, you still have the power to fight. Though it may be a grueling war of attrition, you can force back its advances with sufficient will to survive and resist the darkness. Of course, your captors are not going to make this easy for you. Those that fight hard enough to expel the Kenoma from their bodies and spirits will take at least a week to do so, and for that duration they will be trapped within this chilly cavern, haunted by their worst thoughts and emotions.

The bedrolls barely strand up against the cold, your clothing doesn't at all, and to be comfortable you'll require fire. Yet, there is a limited amount provided to you, along with food and water, and the soldiers do not seem to be making any effort to distribute it evenly. Achieving basic warmth and sustenance may become a battle against your fellow inmates, all while you struggle against the enemy infecting your body. Cracks in the dome of the cavern lead into some smaller caverns and crevasses in the stone that can offer some privacy or protection, but the more splintered the group becomes the less the supplies will hold up. Fortunately for you, neither the cold nor starvation will kill you, but it will make you suffer.

Yet, you may still persevere. As you fight back the Kenoma, something else will be cultivated in its place. Bit by bit, a comforting and warm presence will grow within you, gradually disrupting the maladies afflicting your body and mind. Your faith and perseverance has been rewarded with an attunement to the Pleroma, the Kenoma's cosmological opposite; given enough time, the Kenoma will be forced from your being entirely, in the form of void-black sludge. Only then will your power begin to shine through, the abilities of your past life slowly returning.

You must keep your guard. With or without otherworldly power, escape will be a struggle.

ACCEPTANCE

Or, you may choose the easy option. Maybe the Kenoma resonates with your history and emotions in a way that makes it seem like it isn't the enemy. Maybe the depths of your despair are too deep to escape. Maybe your simply lack the strength to fight. Whatever the reason, sooner or later, the Kenoma claims you. The more you let it in, the less it feels like a poison and the more it feels like strength. The darkness settles comfortably into the cracks and holes of your spirit, and you awaken to its power. You feel the change viscerally.

This world is not good enough, a voice seems to speak through the Kenoma. This suffering you feel, the cruelty that has birthed this darkness in you... it is simply the rot that is consuming this existence. A better universe awaits, one forged by your own hand, and all you need do is first bring about this broken reality's end.

Whatever effects you were suffering from the Kenoma's presence will fade away, and in its place, you will feel your endurance bolstered. The clarity is stark in comparison to the mire you were trapped in before. As the other prisoners suffer around you, the Aion woman from before and an accompaniment of a couple Hylician soldiers will approach you among the ruins, as if summoned straight to your location. She looks you over, her dark eyes impassive, and then asks:

"Did you feel it?"

She doesn't actually wait for an answer, your expression alone enough to assure her. She'll tell the soldiers that you are free to go, and that you are to be given a share of their food and a change of clothes. She'll escort you out of cavern and towards the upper ruins, where the soldiers and Achamites have set up camp. This feels natural to you, somehow, like you and her are on the same wavelength in a way that is hard to comprehend. She is like you, you sense. That dark power is within her as well.

She doesn't linger with you for long, but she will see that you are on your way before heading back to the caverns. She'll say that the voice you heard, that promise, was the Regent, the ruler of this land. They spoke of a power that could birth a new, better universe, and they weren't misleading you. It's within their reach, closer than ever, and if you help them achieve it you will be rewarded lavishly. For now, you are free to regain your strength while the others make their choices. She only asks that you stay in the area and be ready to join the Regent in Achamoth when all is prepared.

If you're prone to boredom, though, she will mention that you'd really be doing the prisoners a favor by convincing them to accept the Kenoma like you did. You could convince them with words, or by making their situations so unbearable they won't have a choice but to break. However you'd like. It won't be worse than what's coming for them if they carry on this way.

When she parts ways with you, you are left to your own devices. Somehow, you feel inclined to cooperate. After all, the Regent did have a point.

QUESTIONS

Are the involuntary transformations during the Kenoma sickness period temporary afflictions or permanent ones?
By default they are temporary, but characters can also keep a couple keepsake changes if you'd like! An Aion's physical appearance is something that is generally in flux, and so even if you keep something from this event, you can always alter it later.

What kind of supplies are going to be distributed to those who accept Kenoma and leave the caverns?
They'll be given food, water, and clothing. They'll be given more/better rations than they were as prisoners, but it's still the sort of food that is limited by the fact that they are out here on a mission. The soldiers will have some fresh meat from prey they've been hunting in the forest, and will generally be having a lot of stew-based food going. There are actual spices in it, though, so that's cool. This is all set up where the Hylicians are camping.

As for clothes, they will get a fresh set (including boots or shoes) and some soap to clean themselves up in the nearby creeks and ponds. Hylici has an aesthetic that leans towards ancient Greek/Roman, so while they won't have anything fancy with them, you are free to assume they are able to acquire anything in that general ballpark. They do also have pants, though. While it is now spring and Horos has a generally temperate climate, it can be chilly at night.

Will Pleroma attuned be able to escape once they've regained their powers?
Yes, they will be allowed to escape at that point, and a second log will be going up to cover that part of the event. This log should generally cover up until shortly after Pleroma start ejecting the Kenoma's influence. Characters are permitted to escape by their own power if they somehow devise a plan to do so, but as we know the Pleromas are at a significant disadvantage in this situation, some characters who have fought against the Kenoma particularly valiantly will be given some magical assistance to help the survivors escape.

Will the Kenomas be able to try to stop them?
Yes! The second log will be set up to contain some PVP, though given the Pleromas do need to escape, we ask that you play nice. There will be a battle, but it will be structured in the context of the Pleromas having to hold off the Kenomas long enough to escape, so it will be relatively brief.

Can we speak to "the Aion"?
Yes, she will be around for the full length of the event. All characters will have the chance to find her watching over the group whether they are Kenomas or soon to be Pleromas. She will not be that talkative, though, so anyone tagging her will have to lead the conversation. She will not make small talk. Martyrs will recognize her as one of them.

Comments

holds my arms open wide..... for you & starbucks 😊

[inutilis]

[ there is no mistaking it; Abel is not precisely the same man who had been spitting idiocy while seated by a campfire. maybe there is something of him in the eyes, but... this one is far more sober, and the rigidity of a churning anxiety is written in blue eyes instead of the healthy glimmer of dark humor.

but even all this isn't enough for him to be completely bereft of said humor -- nor is this situation so grim enough he cannot appreciate Makoto's quip, because there's something of a dry sort of smile tugging at the priest's lips despite himself. the taller man is similarly coming to terms with a crawling sense of taint, of unwanted invasion-- but it seems his concern lays outward.

as he crouches down to meet Makoto's gaze, there is a naked concern writ over his expression; it is set in the very tension of his shoulders, as well as the hand that cautiously stretches to his similarly afflicted friend in some gesture of support. ]

...You know what? Once we get out of this mess... I've decided you owe me one for pulling the wool over my eyes, and I'll see to it you buy me a very stiff drink at the very least.

[ 'if you don't laugh, you'll cry.' or maybe groping for levity is all they have lest the gravity of the situation make itself readily apparent.

...what has happened to them, Makoto...? ]

[affal]

( were they under different circumstances, makoto might have feasted upon the smallest of details in that difference and what origin he supposed it sprung from. as it is, the part of his mind that busies itself in a constant grind of machination turns its gaze inward, trying to take stock of every change that that vile liquid might have elicited in him, whether it was real or a result of hypochondriac recoil. anxiety, yes, this is a common pall upon most if not all of the subjects of the ritual that had just reached its conclusion. they did not know exactly what it was they were in for, but they had just enough information now to know that it would certainly not be enviable.

concern is a ungainly sort of emotion, he thinks, and especially when directed toward himself. it seethes and squirms across his shoulders and around his neck just as readily as the living ichor that twists and wends its way through his chest. he does what he can to tamp down his innate mistrust at what most would think of as such a natural and kind-hearted emotion, and he's early enough in his Kenoma infection that he can remain unmoving beneath the sympathetic hand, even if that gesture calls upon his animal instinct to flee more so than even the infection itself.

he forces himself to instead focus on the words, and that makes it easier. playing a conversation like a card game comes far more naturally to him. he plays his first: a shaky and self-effacing laugh, accepting the so-called punishment with as much grace as he can. )

When we are on the other side of this, I will happily buy one for each of us.

( though he's never really felt any real desire to drink — one could say it wasn't really his vice of choice... — but if they managed to survive whatever all of this was and somehow wrest away the opportunity to? yes, he thinks he would at the very least give it a try.

it's a question that hangs over all of them, and he doesn't really feel like they have the ability to avoid it now. )

...Whatever all of this is, it is very important to them.

( he glances down to the grooves cut into the ground, the dozens of channels which had connected their individual placements on the ritual circle; he thinks of the way that man had melted away in the woman's arms to fill them and fuel... whatever had happened. it was important enough to die for. )

[inutilis]

[ that twisted performance certainly was stomach-turning on it's own accord, being force-fed sludge not required -- and there is a worm, a shudder of something unpleasant down Abel's spine as he follows Makoto's gaze to the symbol etched into the floor beneath their feet in remembrance of what had happened here. the entire experience was abstract, surreal-- as surreal as awakening cocooned in crystal, as dreams of a world, a universe, collapsing in on itself. as surreal as feeling weak as a kitten and stripped of contact with a part of himself he's lived with for--

--his thoughts are escaping him. he is self-aware to recognize that for what it is; the Kenoma's influence is like a decidedly familiar, unpleasant whisper at the base of the skull. thankfully, it is quiet enough to be ignored for now... how fortuitous Abel has company he would much rather focus on. ]

...I'm not certain whether I'm flattered to be of such import, or if I'm simply-- simply seconds away from some kind of meltdown, in all honesty! [ the smile is weak, that levity becoming harder to grasp as the gravity of what's happened here continues to settle. it doesn't sit well. clearly... Makoto shares his sentiments. ] I know this might seem an incredibly stupid question, but... are you alright? This, is... [ a brief hesitation; Abel's mouth works as he goes to continue, but... he shakes his head instead. he doesn't know what this is, but one thing is apparent--

it isn't good. ]

[affal]

( the man's willingness to offer himself to the man wasn't what unsettled makoto. every human that summoned a demon did so knowing what the stakes might be — when making contracts, they are not exactly cagey in that regard, telling the mortal that their soul would be forfeit in the contract's fulfillment. but humans who summon demons are desperate creatures, at the ends of their ropes for various reasons, both noble and utterly indefensible. when makoto himself had been human and had summoned J, he had done so knowing it would mean his life, but he had at least been getting something out of that deal in return; that, and he could wrap it in the trappings of some sort of noble sacrifice, though that had never been anything more than an assuaging balm to his fraying human moral sensibilities.

as the demon he is now, it's that act of sacrifice that the man had performed that disturbs him. whatever he bought with his life was something that would follow after it, making it selfless, or at least as far as makoto could surmise. it would take great conviction or great faith to go so willingly into that. both were fearsome, in their own ways. )

That would be a normal reaction to have, given the circumstances.

( the way he says it seems remote, almost numb; it would be the kind of reaction he would expect most normal, well-adjusted humans to make, but there's something about abel that makes him think he's not so flippant and garden-variety as he perhaps wishes to appear. call it a demonic hunch. as the question is posed to him, though, his veneer slips for a moment; of all types of reactions to have, he almost seems to squirm under the continued concern. fortunately for him, he could most likely write it off as recalling what had just happened to them rather than feeling uncomfortable by someone wasting their sympathy on him. when he manages his reply, his tone is just as reserved as it had been a moment before. )

...I don't know.

( it's the truth. he tries to use it as much as possible, even when embedding kernels of it into the lies that he weaves. ) I don't know enough yet to know. And I won't until I know what it is that's going to happen to us and whether or not I'm equipped to weather it.

( there's a lot that makoto can weather, even if he's never managed to dull his sense of pain or ease his irritation at company he would prefer not keep (just two examples out of many). he has enough determination (and what many might call bull-headed stubbornness) to help with that. after a moment's silence, he continues, attempting some small amount of levity, ) If you do have some sort of meltdown, I'm most likely not going to be able to help you.

[inutilis]

[ Abel definitely thinks that Makoto is in some kind of shock, and the validity of that reaction is completely plausible. who wouldn't find it more than a bit stupefying to bear witness to a woman being rendered to nothingness in the arms of another, to speak nothing of what came after.

the slight crawl of some kind of disgust in Makoto's countenance has the knit at the priest's brows furrowing in an empathetic concern; ironic, of course. ironic it's that very empathy that has the demon disquieted in the first place. ]

...Ah. I see. That is terribly unfortunate, isn't it? But you wouldn't leave me to weather it alone, would you--? No, no, surely not~! What am I even saying...

[ he shifts his position minutely, kneeling his weight down properly in front of his friend where Makoto is still huddled amongst the throne room floor, offering him a hand. ]

Well, then... feel free to abuse my momentary grip on sanity before it all this comes crashing down on both our heads. I'm not sure about you, but... maybe getting out of this incessantly creepy symbol might be a good first step to staving off that panic attack, mm?

[affal]

( yes, sure. shock! shock, which someone experiences when something incredibly alarming and traumatic happens, and which is usually completely novel and unprepared for in their mind. certainly not the sort of wary observation that an individual might be reflecting toward his surroundings and himself, having performed a questionable and highly occult ritual to summon a demon at the cost of his own life once before in his life already. surely not because he's already faced the trials and tribulations of being pulled from one world and into the strict rules of another and had only come out worse for it. of course not!

he forces a chuckle, though it's a rattling and hollow sort of thing. ) If that's a thing that you think might help you, then, of course...

( he's willing to... try... depending. when ailing, be it physically or emotionally (or both...), makoto tends to lash out, and he stops caring about who it is that he targets or how it might appear in the long term. but surely if he starts to feel at risk for something like that, he can find some excuse to distance himself...

while it may be reflexive for him to mistrust the hand that extends itself to him (even moreso when it offers help for nothing in return), he's adapting quickly to at the very least hide that unease. he reaches out to take the offered hand with one of his own, the one that didn't currently have the mark of the firebrand inscribed into the palm, and gets to his feet with abel's aid. )

Yes, you're probably right about that. Let's try to find one of the - comfier-looking rocks, then.

( the young man looks wan, seeming faintly unsteady on his feet as he goes. he feels the terrible vertigo of someone who knows they've just ingested poison but doesn't know when the effects will kick in or what exactly they were going to do to the body. as they continue forward, makoto asks, apropos of nothing: )

Would you say that you regularly encounter hardship, Abel?

[inutilis]

[ there is some subtle, background white noise that is faintly tangible in the air once Abel has assisted Makoto to his feet and begun to guide him away from the unnerving location of the ritual. that fuzzy sort of static is a mixture of disquiet and anxiety, just steady enough to remain persistent - but not heavy enough to be considered oppressive. worry is natural at a time like this, right?

Abel is worried.

he is worried for Makoto, for the other man's poor pallor and the faint tremble in his limbs as they walk side by side. he's worried for the others still coming to terms with what had been forced into and onto them - quite literally, this time. and he's worried for the future when it is growing increasingly apparent that they aren't to leave this dark, cold little cavern; the line of Hylician guards is no less pliant than they had ever been.

...the question once more steals him from wandering thoughts, capturing Abel's attention before it can meander any further-- and he's offering a half-smile as he gestures to a spot near one of the far walls. it's a fair distance, at least, from the circle; Abel doesn't want to ask Makoto to go much further than this. ]

Ah... hardship, hm. [ Abel pulls himself together, stalls a bit to ruminate over the best way to answer-- yo-yoing internally about whether to give something approaching a serious answer, or to try and maintain some sort of levity. the kind laced with a hearty dose of idiocy,

no surprise what he settles on. ]

Hardship is certainly ONE way to describe it, yes...! I mean, it certainly isn't anything like this, [ a broad, sweeping gesture to encapsulate everything here with unadulterated disdain ] --but being tossed about from place to place on a pittance of a wage, barely paid enough to put food in my belly every other day-- if I'm lucky, a-and to say nothing of my mistreatment from my superior despite all my exceptional work ethic?! Could you describe it as anything but...?!

[ .......and after a moment's time spent indulging this melodrama, ]

--Ah. But, were you trying to get at something? Y-you aren't going to tell me this kind of thing has happened to you before, right?

[affal]

( "worry" was an emotion that he had gradually left behind over the last few years; it had aggressively followed him from earth and into hell even though he had left behind his mortality and everyone he'd ever known, therefore severing a lot of the common reasons one had to find themselves wracked with concern. in those first few weeks, consternation had been a constant shadow because he had essentially been tossed into the deep end of demon society and been told to sink or swim. he'd had every opportunity to make that easier for him, to give up before he'd even truly began, but... well. by that point he had already started to foster a flame of resentment for his newfound demon master, and learning to not only swim but to do so well in the dangerous waters of hell would be necessary if he ever wanted to rise to his challenge and end him for good.

he's been so resolute in his course for revenge that it's felt like even ending up here and in this incomprehensible situation couldn't be much more than a single bump in the road. regardless of what he was told, regardless of what he saw or what he felt, he couldn't believe that all of it was permanently gone. he dispels his worries by sheer stubborn force alone: if for some reason I'm still alive, so can he.

but this strange invasive force they'd all been infected with... it could represent the only fear that makoto still had. to die before he'd accomplished his goal would be regretful, to be certain, but to have his mind so thoroughly disrupted that he gave up on his own ambitions and fully became the pawn of someone else? that, to him, is the most unthinkable outcome.

he listens to abel as they slowly make their way to the indicated spot near the far wall of the cavern. it's just about the same tone of an answer as he had expected from the man, but... there's something about the content embedded within the flippant tone and rambling words. makoto can't help but lift a hand to his mouth, chuckling to himself. his thin shoulders shake beneath the stained shift of his pale robe. )

Oh, no. ( he weakly waves a hand in a disarming gesture. ) I was just curious. ( he hums quietly, for just a beat before continuing, ) It seems our troubles overlapped a little more than I expected they might have...

( being tossed around from place to place, forced into situations he has little control over, maneuvered and manipulated by his master despite rising to every challenge he'd ever put in front of him... yep. sounds pretty familiar, at least in broad strokes.

when they arrive to where they'd been walking to, makoto takes a moment to lower himself gingerly onto a low, flat stone, resting his elbows on his knees. )

This sort of thing? No... Not really. Bits and pieces, maybe. ( he places his chin in the palm of one hand, pale eyes watching as the others scattered about the cavern slowly came to terms with what had just happened to them. ) I was just wondering, if you were accustomed to running across hardships, how you tended to deal with them.

[inutilis]

[ ah... their troubles overlapped? there is the light of curiosity in his eyes as he settles himself as 'comfortably' as one might considering their accommodations. w-well, considering the circumstances he had gone through great pains to paint in a most exaggerated and dramatic manner, that--

that is not the most comforting thing to hear, and certainly doesn't paint a flowery picture of Makoto's life at home to say the least. there is a habitually nervous tic that presents itself in the lift of his fingers to adjust at glasses that aren't sitting at his face, but... soon as Abel's hands fail to find his spectacles, he's clearing his throat and fidgeting with his dirtied robe instead. ]

Um-- well... do you mind if I ask you something before I get into that, Mr. M? [ he has some Questions. more than a couple, actually, but-- he is doing his best not to rain an uninvited waterfall upon his addled friend's head; somehow, Abel has a feeling this isn't exactly the most opportune moment to go asking a million and one prying, personal questions. this one, at least, is relatively surface-level. ]

What, precisely, is it that you do at home? I mean-- as in your occupation, or... y-you know what I'm getting at, right?

[affal]

( as he settles, his limbs feel leaden, and his lungs feel similarly heavy as if with the beginnings of a nasty cold. unease spreads throughout his body, and though makoto has never really drank to excess before, the sensation might've been similar to the warmth of alcohol hitting the stomach and then slowly suffusing through the body. except there's no warmth to this — quite the contrary, it's like a viscous chill, something sludgy and foreboding that felt equal points physical and psychological.

there's nothing they can do about it now. panicking would only make things worse — or so he tells himself, repeatedly. he focuses on breathing, and on maintaining a conversation that helps keep his mind somewhat distracted. )

Hm? ( he's not exactly thrilled with the concept — information, to makoto, is precious, and he doesn't really like to give it away willy-nilly. but he had asked something of abel, so he supposes he can't really refuse him one question in return. )

Yes, if you must.

( his expression is still, lightly quizzical, at the question. his chin still rests in the palm of one hand, propped up with his elbow resting on his knee. he considers how to answer. he could lie, but makoto only really does so if there's something to be gained in it; he's not sure there's any benefit in misleading the man. ) Well, Abel, I'm a demon. ( he says it as easily as he might say the sky is blue — it's not really a secret, and he will tell it to anyone who asks. his eyes and the scar encircling his neck make it hard for him to pass himself off as human, and he doesn't care enough to make up some elaborate alternative. ) So the most recent "occupation" I had was the demon's trade. I collected the souls of mortals.

( it's not the only occupation he's had in the last few years, but it's the most recent, relevant, and least questionable to bring up in mixed company. )

[inutilis]

[ Makoto's posture seems so very relaxed, even if Abel knows better than to think his company anything approaching such a state. the uncomfortable crawl of something in the priest's veins is, unfortunately, a shared affliction - and it's slow, insidious taint spreads among their number, one by one around them.

...and yet, suffice to say-- Makoto's answer to a rather innocuous question has arrested all of the priest's attention in full.

the look on his face must seem almost comical; he is surprised, to say the least. while he's come to understand that nearly all of them hail from different worlds, perhaps even different dimensions, from far reaches of realities he cannot even begin to comprehend - somehow, he has not yet met anyone who has claimed to be anything other than human. ]

A-- demon...?

[ collector of souls... the everything that insinuates is mystifying; perhaps there is some bitter irony here, considering how very starkly different their day jobs must be. was there some sort of karmic humor at work here? perhaps so, perhaps so. ]

That is... [ bewildering?? Abel's mouth works for a moment, but he can't quite seem to figure out what he wants to get out of him next. if he thought he was prepared to touch upon Pandora's Box before, this has flipped the lid right open and a veritable mountain of curiosities has just come spilling out of it. ] --Then, who is it that you, ah... that you're in service to?

[ who is it that Makoto serves? because Abel can think of one name that might be a bit on the nose, here..... ]

[affal]

( without moving an inch, makoto's demeanor shifts. his attention focuses to a point, the scant lines of his expression written ever-so-slightly stronger in tension — a tenseness which gathers around his eyes as they narrow almost imperceptibly, studying abel for his reaction. for many that he's confessed this reality to, this hasn't been such a difficult revelation to swallow. many had suspected as much. others had laughed in his face (he's aware he's not the most physically intimidating demon out there). but for abel, it seems to throw a monkey wrench into the gears working between them, detracting from the former ease of their conversation. he has a different perspective, then.

he doesn't answer the question past canting his head slightly to one side, as if challenging him with a mute question of, "is that a problem?"

he finds no moral quandary in what he does. perhaps he once did. he had been squeamish when J had first described what it was that he had summoned him home to help him do, but he had thrown himself into it with bold recklessness regardless, incited (and obviously so) by J belittling the growth that he'd undergone in these last three years of being a demon. that first collection had been the most difficult, and it's one he doesn't like to think on. it had, after all, ended up with his aged mortal father plunging a knife into his undying heart and bursting into flame, bone, and gold dust. that had been the contract J had needed help fulfilling, after all: 30 years after his son's death, he had still wanted to kill him with his own hands.

but it had only ever gotten easier from there.

the humans he collected souls from summoned demons willingly. they knew the terms of the contracts before signing them, and they were fools if they thought they could prevent a demon from collecting in the end. the human that makoto had once been would be crushed to know of what he'd become — he had, after all, willingly signed his own life away to a demon in part because he'd never wanted to take a human life. but things change, and so has he.

whatever abel is thinking, it might be a little too on the nose. makoto answers swiftly and concisely, ) I am the ward of an archduke of hell — a demon known as J. The same demon I summoned when I was still human. ( there's a tenuous moment of silence, and then he continues with a darkness settling over his expression and an edge of bitterness siding his words. ) Though I'm more like his property, really.

[inutilis]

[ if Makoto is looking for judgment in the priest's gaze, his search will come up empty. though there's no shortage of surprise, even bewilderment... there is no fear, nor distaste, nor disdain, but instead--

instead, there is that ever-present, gnawing concern that bleeds into his expression. something in Makoto's explanation had clearly struck a nerve: when I was still human.

...property. ]

Then, that means... [ though the Good Book has mention of 'demons' and 'hell,' Abel gets the feeling that it has not adequately prepared him for Makoto's circumstances. ] Was this something you chose...? Something you wanted, Mr. M?

[ because it sounds like even if it was, his current state of being isn't one that Makoto particularly enjoys. it isn't unheard of, after all - for men to barter their souls for things otherwise unattainable, only to realize in hindsight that their wish had not been exactly what they bargained for. was this the case with his demon-friend, here? ]

[affal]

( concern is very nearly worse.

it might simply be easier if the man hated or feared him outright. at least then he could anticipate what he might say, what he might do. concern? how can he predict what someone might do if they were concerned for him when he's never really had a single person concerned for him in either of his horrible, tragic little lives?

he can't help but laugh. given their circumstances and the rotten feeling that's beginning to reach out from his chest, it lodges in his throat inelegantly, sounding almost more like a choke than a laugh. ) Does it sound like something I'd choose?

( there's a silence, and it's one laden with... makoto shrinking under the weight of that not being quite the whole story settling upon his shoulders. he sighs, shaking his head. ) It's more complicated than that. I did choose to summon him. And I did agree when he told me he planned to take me with him, but it hadn't been much of a choice at the time. And —

( he drifts off for a moment, looking away. his jaw works as he grinds his teeth, recalling how J had phrased it then. "I hereby vow to love you and raise you as a demon in your own right." is that what this ceaseless pit of bitterness and hatred is, festering in the cavern of his chest? "love"?

he had been a fool to expect otherwise from a demon. )

What he promised me... He misled me. And that was that.

[inutilis]

[ that bitter, dry exclamation - 'does it sound like something I'd choose?' - makes that pit in Abel's stomach sink all the further. regardless how events had actually played out, it seems readily apparent that Makoto regrets the choices he'd made. yes, hindsight really is excessively cruel sometimes, isn't it? even if Makoto had been under duress, if that 'choice' hadn't really been much of a choice at all... suppose it doesn't lessen the inevitable blow. ]

...I'm sorry. To say that sounds miserable... it doesn't really do it justice, I suppose.

[ this boy's fate had been entangled with this "J's," and it doesn't take a particularly observant man to see that describing Makoto's lot in life as unhappy might be an understatement. even so... perhaps it goes a long way to explain some of his... eccentricities. ]

Is there a way to undo what's been done...? Or to free yourself from this arrangement?

[ regain his humanity? break ties from his would-be 'master?' ]

[affal]

( regret?

ah, such a human emotion. does he regret them? not necessarily. even with everything that had happened, he struggles to see himself making any different decisions. would he have still summoned J, knowing what he knows now? yes, but perhaps he would have been more careful in the wording of the contract. perhaps then his life would have ended as he had planned for it to, and he wouldn't have undergone any of the torment and indignities and the warping that had occurred in him because of them. because from the moment J had pulled his head from his body, every "choice" that he had made had been carefully orchestrated so that it was never much of a choice at all, and it always played exactly into what J wanted.

that's why he was one of the most feared demons in hell.

he doesn't disagree, but... he looks sidelong at abel, his gaze far more cutting than one might expect of someone receiving their condolences from someone they had just admitted many painful truths to. there is nothing worse than makoto can imagine than to be pitied, especially by someone who only had partial information about him and what kind of creature he really was. though he doesn't really get that sense from abel, it's close enough to raise his hackles. )

...I told you all of this because you asked. I would ask that you do not allow it to color your perception of me.

( especially considering the answer to that question. it's one that he seems to think on for a moment, but that's just for show; he knows the answer immediately. his eyes lid nearly closed before he continues, his tone just as blithe as it had been giving the other replies: )

Of course. I have to destroy him.

( destroy and devour is actually the pledge that makoto had made, but that's between himself and J, in his opinion.

as for what he would do after that...

oh, he doesn't know. he's never thought that far. but J is one of a very small number of demons who know his name, so perhaps he might be allowed to eventually drift into nonexistence, once he'd had his fill of hell. )

[inutilis]

[ Makoto is worried about Abel's perception of him being influenced by this? it's a curious thought, and one that gives him pause - but he nods his head quietly, continuing to listen in attentiveness as he is given an answer to his question.

...'destroy him,' then.

the priest shifts where he sits, something uneasy in his posture as he takes the time to absorb this. to say Abel knows little of demons and hell is an understatement; though there are creatures who might be called 'demons' or 'monsters,' all the 'monsters' in his world have and always will be... human. could Makoto kill this "J?" what would that really mean for him? ]

Would you be free, Mr. M?

[ would his life be his own? ]

[affal]

( makoto has perhaps a naive desire to be perceived conceptually in a way that's completely separate of his circumstances and resulting actions — he likes to think that he can somehow curate how others view him in this way, trying to weed away less-than-desirable emotions like pity or remorse and instead foster respect or at the very least neutral understanding. but people cannot be compartmentalized like that, regardless of how he tries to do so to himself; the event's of one's life (or afterlife, in this instance) tangle with the substance of who a person is and what they do in response of them, and the resulting inseparable melange is what every other individual in life must meet and mete with.

the chimera which sits beside abel now, the former human schoolboy now forcibly fired and shaped by the hands of hell, considers the question; he doesn't handle it with the flippancy that he had wielded just a moment before, instead giving it the time and the gravity he feels it deserves by abel's nerve in asking such a thing.

the answer is, of course, "I don't know." how could he know? he's been asked what he sees in his life beyond J's destruction, and the answer has always been that it simply doesn't matter. would he be free, or would his interminable existence as a demon shackled by the rules of hell keep him interned in a very different way? )

Maybe, and maybe not. ( given the time and thought he's given it, it's not much of an answer. so another moment grates past before he supplements it with, ) But I would at least have kept my word.

( J is not ignorant of what he's up to. he keeps tabs on his process, actually, even going so far as to praise him for picking up on the right track. it drives makoto crazy, making him constantly second-guess whether or not his ambitions for vengeance are self-inspired or something that J had implanted in him just as readily as he had given him the reasons for wanting it in the first place.

it's a tiring topic to think about, especially given the archduke isn't even here. his pale gaze slowly rolls back over to abel; his words are dry as he continues, ) Is that enough about me for you to answer my question?

[inutilis]

[ that the answer is unknown isn't entirely surprising. suppose the matter of 'demons' and 'monsters' in Makoto's world is a complex and complicated subject; it seems natural it would be. but handing over one's humanity, losing it in such a way...

...Abel offers a slightly admonished sort of smile that is forced to his lips at the end of it all. suppose he has asked quite a bit of his company, hasn't he? personal bits, at that. the priest fidgets as he shifts his position, though whether in further unease or merely to make himself comfortable - it doesn't really matter. ]

I may have gotten a little carried away, Mr. M-- I hope... I hope that you don't take it the wrong way. It's just--

[ well, the disturbing nature of what one question had led to didn't exactly permit Abel to let the topic go, so to speak. it was not unlike some sort of snowball effect - one question led to another, and next thing he knew... they were here at the bottom of the slope, and Abel isn't sure he feels good about what he's learned. he can't imagine how difficult Makoto's life had to have been to make such a deal in the first place, even under duress and at the hands of manipulation. it sounds like things have only gotten worse for him since his 'transformation.'

but he owes an answer to a question, and while all of this might have gotten derailed - it did give Abel the answer he was looking for regarding how to proceed. ]

...You were wondering how I get through tough times, right? [ the question of whether or not he had experienced them seems moot; Abel does not like to paint himself the victim in his life - but rather the aggressor, the instigator of his own pain. the hardships he's endured have been his own making. but weathering them... ]

Maybe it sounds childish, or silly - but it took me a great many years to realize what might be painfully obvious to some. [ it is a rare bit of sincerity, melancholy, leaking through in this. ] The best way out is through. And the best way through is relying on those around you-- those you can trust, those you care for and who care for you in return. Some see this as a weakness, but... there is no question I wouldn't be here today if not for learning to let go in that way.

[ did Makoto ask in hopes of getting advice to see him through this...? if so, then... Abel hopes he takes what little he has to offer to heart. he doesn't have to be alone, even if Abel understands that trusting, relying on others in a time of vulnerability does not come as easy as it should to most. ]

[affal]

( none of it had been too much to give up — these were the simplest and most base facts about him now, of what he used to be, what he is now, and what he seeks to accomplish by any means necessary. it doesn't necessarily pain makoto to give voice to anything that he'd admitted to abel, but it does make him realize with irritating acuity how non-demon creatures might respond to the story. he doesn't want pity, and he scarcely wants sympathy; everything that had happened to him, he had technically agreed to, and so he unhappily grit his teeth and bore the blame — or, at least, the bit of blame that he didn't sink along with his feelings for his demon master.

he shakes his head, dismissive of abel's worries. ) Think nothing of it. There just isn't much more for me to tell.

( a blatant lie, but one he craftily wraps up in a half-truth — there's so much more to tell, but none that he really wants to divulge so freely and so easily.

he nods. at the time that he'd asked it, it had been little more than an errant thought; makoto himself has a very specific method of dealing with problems, but it's not exactly a... good or a healthy process. (it usually involves sulking extensively, entering a brief fit of rage which might or might not be violent to those completely innocent of the issue at hand, and then resolving into incendiary and dangerous oaths sworn over dinners and the like.) he has the feeling that his own bad habits will only bite him back here, so he extends his curiosity to his current companion, for better or for worse. given all the strange places and unique circumstances they come from, he had hoped for at least something to contemplate as they slowly submerge into their new fate.

though, given the answer that abel divulges to him......... perhaps he should have never asked. he deflates, expression slightly rude in his storminess, especially given how he can hear the notes of heartfelt earnestness ringing through the words. were makoto's heart not such a stunted and shriveled thing, perhaps he would've felt worse about his response, but, well...

those you can trust? those who care for you, and which you care for in return? he might as well have suggested he strike out to live at the bottom of the ocean. he had been a macabre shame to his family, too quiet and too strange to garner anything but ridicule and violence from his classmates. his life among the living had been worthless enough that he had actually trusted in the promise of a demon to love him and care for him, and abel now knew how that had all turned out. the only "friend" he could claim to have among the demons he left behind in the ashes of hell was someone he now had to actively keep an eye on, too wary of the growth of his power and prestige and how it might interfere with makoto's own plans...

and if anyone heard the full history between makoto and fjord (especially that of the first day they'd met), they'd think him completely insane for claiming the demon to be his only "friend." and even with that label, he wouldn't say he either trusts or cares for the demon past a certain threshold —

after inwardly thinking on the answer for a moment, makoto rolls his shoulders and dips his head in a way that he hopes appears considerate, his tone a little wooden as he says, ) I appreciate your sincerity, Abel. I will keep this in mind.

[inutilis]

[ though one might be hard pressed to imagine Abel as anything but a soft-hearted fool, it is the sort of demeanor that was learned rather than one that came naturally to him. it isn't like he doesn't understand that the prospect of kindness-- human or otherwise-- might be genuinely difficult for some to swallow, especially if they've had lives as rough as Makoto's seems. that isn't even taking into account the additional layer of trust, and friendship, and the ability to rely on these nebulous individuals atop it all--

basically? Abel gets it's a rather tall ask.

but he doesn't mean for Makoto to rely on those who aren't present, here-- either because he suspects he has no 'friends' to speak of (what a sad thought), or because said friends aren't likely to be here considering how few of the Aions' number were among familiar faces. he's offering an even taller ask - the prospect of relying on those around Makoto, to rely on those in similarly miserable straits. if nothing else, there has been some camaraderie built in their suffering.

Abel takes no offense to the hint of something sincerely Unimpressed in the demon's gaze; to the contrary, he quite expected his words to be icily received. if anything, it just elicits a little ho-hum sort of sigh before Abel tucks his knees a bit closer to his chest. ]

I know what you're thinking, alright? --And I told you, it might seem childish, or silly. But... for whatever it's worth to you-- you aren't alone. You don't have to be, either. I'm here, you're here... and even if we might not be thrilled about that bit, we're enduring. Just think about it, okay? Sometimes, letting yourself endure something miserable becomes a little less miserable with someone else.

[affal]

( don't you dare pity him, abel... don't you dare.....!!!!

really, his own perspective is this: he had asked the older man his opinion, but that didn't necessarily mean he had to take it. makoto has survived thus far by his own efforts and merit, suffering through scorn, alienation, humiliation, indignation, and death itself by sheer force of will. one could say it was a far less renewable resource than the one that abel was suggesting. just how much of a perpetual engine is one that's built to be fueled entirely on spite? surely it would be better for himself and everyone around him if he took abel's advice to heart, but...

well, perhaps that's simply too much to ask. this demon might be too far gone.

were the demon known as "m" not sitting next to abel — were he instead the human who had gone by the name of tachibana makoto, who had felt so forsaken in his place on Earth that he had willingly given his life to a demon, perhaps the words might have found ground more fertile and receptive for them to sprout and take root. as he is now, the ground they fall to is broken and barren. his shoulders rise and fall in an exhausted sigh, and he shakes his head. ) It's not that I think you sound naive. ( he pauses, thinking on how each breath feels more difficult to take than the last, as if the air that filled his lungs was as thick and heavy as honey. ) It's more that it's not very much in my instinct or my nature. But I will do what I can to take your words to heart.

( eh... kind of. he pauses a moment, then continues with a somewhat pained-looking smile, ) It's not as though we have much choice in keeping one another's company, given we're all seemingly trapped in here.

( says the guy who is about to spend the next three or four days huddled in a corner somewhere. hindsight is 20/20. )

[inutilis]

[ pity intensifies...... violently,

okay no, Abel isn't the sort to toss pity toward others-- but empathy? Makoto is going to have to swallow that in spades if he continues hanging around this man, which just furthers why keeping his current company is a terrible idea. terrible. bad for one's health. mmhm. truly tragic. swallowing FRIENDSHIP and COMPASSION? disgusting. maybe that corner of the cavern isn't a bad place to be in comparison??

Abel's smile becomes a little less sheepish and self-deprecating at the demon's response, however-- and he huffs a soft chuckle that isn't quite a laugh. ]

I suppose, at the least, it beats that whole 'dropped into a living volcano' bit, hm? ...But maybe for some of our number, not by much-- have you met that man who looks as though he's perpetually forced to swallow something bitter? [ Hubert....... ] Mm, mm. We do what we must, Mr. M. We do what we must.

want to wrap this one up hereish? i do want to drop into abel's inbox sometime soon.....

[affal]

( stop!!!!!!

no, stop that too. empathy is almost as bad. it holds within it the arrogance of a stranger to completely infer the shape and scope of another's life through the imperfect lens of their words.

so, yes, honestly?? hiding in a little corner of the cavern and allowing the Kenoma his anger to blister his skin and his anguish to curdle his guts? probably preferable to having to stomach too many more of abel's shounen platitudes, tbh... it makes the slight pivot in the track of their conversation amenable, even if the creep of the Kenoma within his own body continues its inexorable crawl. he musters a light chuckle at the subject of abel's gossip's expense (sorry, hubert). ) Yes — or I believe so. There are a few I can think of that fit that description.

( eustace, gen, silco, and that's just naming a few... he's certain he can recall more, if by sight if not by name.

he hums, the sound of it already exhausted. ) I suppose so. ( a beat, and then he confides, ) I have never been good at simply abiding. But there is even less we can do here than we could previously, so... ( his voice drifts off, because there's little else he can say about it. )

yes sure!! that sounds good to me... exciting 🤗

[inutilis]

[ oh, Makoto...

there is something in the way that "M"'s voice drifts off that has something in Abel's chest tightening, some delicate but profound tug of sympathy. he feels it, too-- the sense of helplessness in the face of their circumstances, circumstances that have only managed to get increasingly worse as time progressed. who thought that being rebirthed through a crystal cocoon, shaking off the nightmarish vision of the death of your universe was just the beginning...?

troubling times indeed.

...but Abel senses something weary in his company, and he doesn't want to overstay his welcome. Makoto is right, after all - whether they like it or not, they will be sharing one another's proximity for the foreseeable future, and whatever that... disgusting... sludge holds in store for them, they'll need their strength. so he gently - and with care to be gentle in his approach - rests his hand at Makoto's shoulder to give it a tiny squeeze as he makes a move to lumber to his feet. ]

If all that's left is for us to endure, then you already know my favored method of weathering the worst, mm? [ gross as it is... y'know. ] Should you find you in need of a little company, then... please come and find me, Mr. M. Alright?

[ he doubts the demon will take him up on the offer-- just a hunch. but the offer is an earnest one. the thought of Makoto suffering alone through whatever the shivering, unpleasant whisper in of Abel's skull promises is coming-- that is almost more nauseating than the taste on the back of his tongue. ]

You'll me doing me a favor, too. And I always repay my debts, I'll have you know...!