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Angelic - Part VII [Patron-Guided]
🕑 Added 2020-03-23 08:01:47 +0000 UTCThe ultimate threat of the situation Cyth found themself in was that of the loose devil. If they were to escape, their reign over the region would be reestablished soon after. Too many cultists, too much influence; Hell wouldn’t forfeit this city and its foundation for environmental destruction, not after knowing its effects in the far future. Too much time had been squandered assisting the rescue workers, and so Cyth propelled themself into the crumbling depths, once again pinging for direction.
“Tsk… Beneath me?” Cyth spoke to themself, frustrated with the ping’s results. The strongest pull was directly under them, somewhere in the vague hill that the skyscraper had been belittled to. There was no simple way to navigate the labyrinth of wreckage, certainly not towards any specific point. Halls were flipped and twisted, entry ways were pits of blackness, and tears in the walls connected completely different rooms. Cyth peeks into some of these routes, deciding between three to five of them which option would be best…
… but they never make their choice. In the midst of contemplating where to go, the floor -- or whatever they stand on -- shudders beneath their feet, succumbing into a pit that creeks eerily. Cyth instinctively lessens their weight in what ways they can, realizing that the ground is about to collapse, but their reaction makes no difference. The shallow pit swallows just enough waiting room chairs and pieces of a reception desk that the load becomes too much. After a loud snap and an eruption of dust, the floor crumbles, then falls apart entirely.
Cyth tries to catch themself by clawing onto anything, but they respond too slowly. Too much of the floor gives way, and all too quickly, Cyth is plummeting into the hole alongside the trash that had caused the collapse. Their arrogance up until now proves flawed, their composure forgone when they realize the fall is far longer than anticipated. It surprises them as it would anyone; how is so much open space available under the ruins of a skyscraper? Between the pitch black and the fall itself, of course, there was no yet telling what they had stumbled into.
A terse gasp is all that Cyth releases before crashing. At their 25 foot scale, their weight hits the ground hard, causing a new series of rattles to run through the building. Even in their dazed state, Cyth notes to beware how they throw their weight, having reached such depths. If the chamber they had discovered was still so open, it was likely that a careless misstep could result in the entire space collapsing in on itself. In a situation like that, the devil would certainly be able to escape with Cyth mired in rubble and a boom of chaos to throw off the trail.
But what was this room exactly? Cyth can only tell so much, refusing to move from where they were laid until they’re assured of the chamber’s integrity. From feel alone, their hands graze over rows of identical things, as do their bare feet. The surface they sit on is uneven and sloped, but far more structured than the broken chunks of bricks, pipes, and steel beams. All seemed to be in fair condition except where they had landed, their body having flattened whatever these objects were into a crater.
It was worthwhile to flick on a magical light, but illumination filled the chamber before Cyth could do so themself. Bright lights were activated in sets at a time, their suddenness blinding Cyth as though being aimed at them specifically. They shielded themselves from the flashes coming from the ceiling’s corners, their squint slowly piecing together the setting. Rows of theater seats stretched out from both sides, all facing a stage that the slope of the room led to. It was an auditorium, left mostly unscathed by Cyth’s earlier attack. Sparse evidence suggested any level of destruction; rubble leaked in from emergency exits, catwalks were misaligned or outright fallen, and of course the hole Cyth had accidentally created, allowing a trickle of dust to continually pour where they sat. Otherwise, the auditorium was in fine condition, except where Cyth lay in the middle of the seats, their body nearly as long as the walkways that cut through the numerous rows.
It wasn’t just the lights that had been activated, but the speakers as well started to buzz with life. A moment later, a feminine voice projects through them, a tone tinted with an accent not familiar with the region: “Greetings, angel. Welcome to my sanctuary. Do pardon the mess, we recently encountered a rather rambunctious visitor.” Cyth’s vision adjusts to the lights, and as they do, a figure fades into view from the center of the stage. Someone in a suit, a clean and straightforward black, seated on one knee.
“I would call my custodial team to clean things proper,” the voice continues, “but, someone killed them all. Hard-workers, they were. Very earnest people. The state of things, oh, how mad it’s all become…”
Cyth glares at the swaying silhouette, focusing on clearly seeing its true form. There was no mistaking from such behavior that this was the devil Cyth had been on the hunt for. The figure on stage is a woman, at least, such is the shape the celestial had taken. Her feminine figure is barely noticeable, her strict attire broadening her shoulders and lengthening her torso in order to display capitalist confidence. A black suit with slacks to match, with only a flare of orange coming from her high heels and earrings. A minor hunch in her posture subdues her tallness, though as she stands at the size of an ordinary human, she is no taller than Cyth’s foot, heel-to-toe.
“What a nasty glare,” the woman scoffs as she straightens her stance, having fixed the pins placed within her chocolate-colored hair. She snickers, “No manners among angels, hm! Just let yourself in, kill hundreds along the way, but I introduce myself first? Why, you should know who I am -- CEO of Belz Industries, Brianna Smaul. The international success story? Sort of a big deal around--”
“Your real name,” Cyth demands, shifting forward in their crater, “devil.”
The devil shrugs. “Call me Oriphi then,” she sighs. “I’m not as famous with that one, unfortunately. Not currently.” Her smile forebodes a mystery that tickles Cyth’s curiosity, and Oriphi seeks to tease them further. “I had quite the schedule arranged with my operations here. Why all this nonsense and commotion? I’m a fair businesswoman. We could have penciled you in for a lunch.”
For all the attitude Oriphi has, it goes unmatched by Cyth, who retains a stoic demeanor while listening to the devil. They won’t allow this devil to distract them, so as they let Oriphi ramble, they dwell on what action to take. Having fallen right into Oriphi’s lair, the potential for a trap having been set was high. Likewise, an unexpectedly bold attack might be brasher than what the devil expects, stepping over any traps entirely. But did Oriphi speak the truth about being fair? In the crumbling auditorium, violence could unsettle the surroundings, and so perhaps a discussion could prove more beneficial.
Cyth ponders the odds, but not for long. Not wanting to test Oriphi’s patience, Cyth swiftly acts upon their plan…
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