Peniel

[Rowan Finnegan]

Rowan’s lips twisted in dismay when none of her companions answered her question. She scanned her surroundings and caught sight of a downed tree limb. The thing was slightly longer than her leg and still held fast to smaller branches and delicate leaves.

It’s better than nothing, Rowan thought to herself wryly. She made a run for the large branch as Vale ran forth with bloodlust quenching her tongue.

One of the beasts descended upon her as she reached the branch, grasping it with a steady hand and bringing it up into the air with an arching motion. The beast buzzed back into the air, annoyance clear upon it’s clicking tongue. It came down once more, sinewy claws reaching and grasping for her.

Rowan brough the branch up once more, knocking the thing across its torso and sending it hurtling towards one of the trees. She grinned despite herself, the beast already making its way back towards her. 

She did not see the other one coming.

[Patricus I]

His heart beat faster than his eyes could track the demon creatures. One dipped so low that he ducked on instinct, and the wind of its wings knocked the hat from Philip’s head. The pilot’s gun fired so loud, Philip threw his hands over his ears. He didn’t know what to do. Armande and the dark-haired woman attacked. Even the American woman found a dead branch to defend herself. He had nothing! Nothing but his own two hands and feeble faith, but neither was he going to sit and wait for evil to satiate itself. I am not a warrior pope!

The pilot fired the gun a second time, but a scream followed. Philip whipped around just in time to see the body of the swiss guardsman yanked from the ground. He was carried off and flung afar, crashing like a rock to the ground. Philip couldn’t breathe, frozen in shock. Which was when he saw another demon streaking toward the American woman’s back. 

He hurried toward her, hoping to get to her before the demon, but his cape snagged on the very same logs that Rowan took the branch. He stumbled, but a shine caught his gaze. It was the gun. He grabbed it by the barrel, only to gasp with the pain of its heat, and quickly repositioned it.

But before he could get the gun to Rowan, darkness smothered the sky. He was on his back. The creature’s limbs pricking and grabbing at him. Robes tearing. He yelled defiantly, but no amount of scrambling won his escape.

Somehow, the gun went off and the thing screamed in pain and flew off him. Adrenaline pushed him to his feet. When he found Rowan, he breathing hard and panting something about her taking the gun.

[Valeriya]

Valeriya’s daggers sliced the air like claws. Her posture was one of an offensive alpha. She held her arms open, inviting the bukavak to shred her to pieces. But as soon as one came close, its belly was sliced open and insides spilled out on the ground. Valeriya wasn’t easy meat for the bloodthirsty demons.

She found herself near Armande, and together they cut through any that came within reach of their blades. It was the popping of an Above weapon that snapped Vale’s attention elsewhere. A body was dropped from the sky, and Vale was relieved to see it wasn’t the pretty Pope.

“Beloved! Help him!” she yelled to get Armande’s attention, grabbed her skirts and raced toward her sister.

[Armande]

The screams of the dying creatures were piercing, like nails on chalkboard, wining as it trying to drill into his brain. He had fallen into the combat version of the chong rann, his hacking and slashing precise and focused. As if by training, he fell into step with Valeriya, the two of them dancing together as if the chittering and screams were the rhythm to a song. A beautiful and deadly song that sang to him in a way he had never experienced.

The gunshot brought him out of his trance and he slashed at the creature that reared up as he turned to see how Rowan and Patricus were. Alive, was how. But in their dance, some distance had opened up between their groups. Valeriya's words coincided with his thoughts and they closed the gap between them. Fool!, he thought to himself.

Thankfully, the ground was covered in moments. Armande stood in front of Patricus as a shield, aware that Valeriya had gone to Rowan. A quick glance to the left showed a number of the creatures clustering around a spot 10 meters away. The color of the pilot's shirt was only visible for a second, but it was enough, the torn and bloody fabric indicating his fate.

He took stock of the diminishing number before them. Together they had made a sizable dent in the swarm and the creatures had to climb over their dead just to get to them, slowing their pace and adding to the number of corpses. The fighting would not go on forever, he knew. Attrition would take its toll. His sword took off a claw and head and they continued their dance.

[Rowan Finnegan]

The buzzing beast came at Rowan a third time, but she had been ready. The branch was now grasped like a large spear, its jagged end pointed towards the thing flying towards her. It closed the gap between them as Rowan thrust the branch forward, its broken point driving into the beast’s belly. The thing screamed in unearthly tones, ooze dripping from the wound.

Rowan felt the air knock out of her as she was shoved forward. She toppled over awkwardly onto the branch and the dead thing; it had stopped its screaming, but the sound continued above her. Another beast had caught her unaware.

The thing shrieked and clawed at the back of her dress, clearly seeking flesh.

Thank the Goddess this has a thick lining… Rowan thought to herself ruefully.

Rowan’s hands squirmed beneath the press of their weight as she sought the branch, hoping to drag it out from under herself. The beast made quick work of her dress, finding her smooth flesh. Pain erupted across her shoulder blade. Blood quickly began to flow from the wound.

Rowan did not scream. She sought calm. She sought the Light. 

It was not there. She opened her eyes and struggled to look to the left.

Vale had found her.

[Patricus I]

The blink of an eye crossed paths with an eternity. Their foursome was united, backs to backs, each defending their own ground. Philip was useless in the melee. He all but dropped the gun into Rowan’s hands and vowed to never touch the sickly object again. He would forever feel the heat of it and remember the power pushing against his palm.

Eventually, the screeches and howls dissipated like a fog retreating upon itself. He was exhausted and shuddering in his own skin. Once the clear was called, he hurried toward where the pilot was last seen. There were no remains. It was strange how the loss bit to the bone over a man he barely knew. Perhaps that was the meaning of guilt, a selfish emotion.

He was recovering the red saturno cap that he favored so much. At least it wasn’t a total loss, he thought to himself, as he bent to retrieve it. Except, when he picked it up, what lay hidden beneath made him gasp.

“Armande,” he called for the other man to bear witness.

If the monsters were disturbing, this discovery was downright chilling. There in the grass lay the exact replica of the object from the dream. He dared not touch it, but his willpower was overruled by the pull of morbid need to comprehend.

“I’ve seen this before. At the Four-Way Pillar. These,” he turned in a circle, visualizing the lay of the land with hidden eyes, and proclaimed, “are the remains of paradise.” A paradise tainted by evil.

“The key of cunning,” he said barely a whisper as his fingers grazed the holy object.  Turning it over in his hands, he realized something he hadn’t noticed in the dream. There were slits on the end as though made to join into a mate of matching pattern. The four keys connected in some way. In a way that would save everything.

His penetrating gaze swept their immediate surroundings. “Somewhere in this wasteland we will find the pillar, but I can't say I care to continue sightseeing.”  

[Patricus I]

((OOC: Giving this a little bump))

[Armande]

Time telescoped in that way of battle meditation. Muscle memory took over, his arms and legs and hands moving in direction to his focused mind in the same way an accomplished pianist's fingers danced over the keys. It was beyond mechanics, beyond thought. It was thought translated into action without translation.

Small cuts and scrapes- if they happened- did not register in the brain. Only the sweat that stung at his eyes pierced into his awareness, and then only for him to swipe it away as the fighting continued.

And somehow, from one moment to the next, it seemed it was over. The mounds of bodies and limbs still betrayed some life and movement, but they appeared to be spasms and death throes. Still, he held his carbon steel blade at the ready, open for movement, for anything to indicate the threat still existed.

The quiet was deafening, their breathing the only sounds above the scraping of exoskeleton and ground.

Movement drew his eye. Patricus had left their protective bubble to retrieve his hat. Foolish, Armande thought. But the man's words called him over. Carefully watching for any further danger- and knowing that his dear Valeriya would be more than up to the task- he walked to Patricus and looked at what was before him. Not the skeletal remains of a body stripped of flesh and muscle. No, it was the object in his hands.

It was manufactured, of that there was no doubt. And it gleamed like metal but had an air of ceramic to it. And it was incomplete. Or rather, it appeared to be something part of a larger whole.

Armande considered Patricus' words. Including the whispers. The Key of Cunning. And for some reason, he thought of the faces on the cherubim. Cunning. The man's face? Did that mean the bull and the eagle and lion were nearby? His eyes rove over the landscape. Were they here?

It would take some planning to find them, if they were.

The pillar though..."Do you remember how large the pillar was?" His eyes swung to the eyes of Valeriya. "Does anything of this look familiar to you, Valeriya?" He turned to Rowan. "Rowan? What do the Eyes see?"

The landscape was sere and flat and finding either a pillar or the other keys would take time. The Eyes could see beyond and read tapestry of fate. It had called them here. Perhaps now, it would provide them the next step.

[Patricus I]

The immensity of this moment was nearly overwhelming. This barren landscape where neither plant nor bug survived, infested with devilish creatures, was the graveyard of the Garden of Eden. It was both sickening and fascinating. That he, the Pope, was led to the place where the ancestors of humanity once roamed. Were the creatures that attacked them the offspring of the serpent? He tried to superimpose the imagery of the dream’s memory with the surrounding landscape, but the transposition felt impossible. He wished that Nimeda were here to see – the thought cut short. Nimeda wasn’t real. She was Thalia, the wide-eyed young lady of Tartu.

He thought of the Pillar then. In the dream, it had been twice his height. The four heads of the cherubim were ominous and dominating. The stone seemed as indestructable as the foundation of the earth itself. 

“The Pillar was large, but everything is so different, it could be half-buried, and we’d never know it,” he said. Then there was a howl on the distance, the kind that chilled to the bone. They should leave before the creatures returned and in greater force.

[Rowan Finnegan]

It happened in a blur, Vale had come to her aid and then a gun had appeared in Rowan’s hand. She could have sworn she heard the Holy Father say something as she closed her palm on the weapon. A haze settled over her mind as the blood ran down her back.

The weight that had been crushing Rowan suddenly disappeared and air flooded every particle of her lungs. The haze thickened, but it only helped her to find the serenity she most desperately needed to work her magic.

The Light still would not come, but Rowan could swear that she felt it hiding just out of sight. Irritation bubbled up along the edges of the haze as she pushed herself onto hands and knees.

Vale had indeed pulled the creature off Rowan and was fighting the thing like an Amazonian. Rowan felt herself smile despite the pain in her shoulder. The Light would not come, but the Holy Father had given her a great boon.

“Sister! Drop down now!” Rowan called as Vale followed suit.

A loud pop echoed through the air as the gun fired. The bullet found its target, knocking the monster down into a crumpled heap.

Rowan smiled at her sister and nodded in thanks. Armande and the Holy Father had run off to inspect something on the grounds, as it had quickly become apparent that the last of the monsters had been slain. Despite the clouded mind, Rowan found herself rolling her eyes at her sister as if to say ‘men…’

Armande called out to Rowan and Vale, his voice urgent. Rowan shook her head to desperately clear the mist from her mind, standing slowly on shaky knees. The Light would not come to her. Would the Sight?

Rowan staggered towards Vale, urging her sister to help her close the distance. The pain along her shoulder blade intensified as she found her mind clearing. With a wince, Rowan came to stand before Vale and clasped hands with her.

The world descended into darkness…

---

The Eyes saw. A large, bronze pillar erupted from a barren landscape. The same pillar from a vision seen long ago. Black clouds covered the sky overhead and a low rumble began off in the distance. Rowan, Armande, Vale, and the Holy Father all came walking towards the pillar – each coming from a different cardinal direction.

Armande came from the North.

The Holy Father came from the East.

Vale came from the South.

Rowan came from the West.

The four joined together around the pillar, each with a look of adoration on their faces.

A light flashed across the darkened clouds and a peal of thunder sounded like the trumpets of Judgement Day. Lightning arced down from the sky, striking the bronze pillar at its heart. The strange language across the pillar glowed with a brilliant, azure light – filling their vision and blinding them.

The lightning subsided and the pillar appeared to be completely destroyed – save for its eastern side. That side now bearing a relief of the face of the Holy Father; the man was nowhere to be seen.

Rowan looked down to see that strange glassy object in her right hand. She looked up to find that Vale and Armande also held similar objects in their hands. Azure light began to pour forth from the objects and a searing pain shot into Rowan’s palm.

With a deafening clap, their three objects shot up into the air and back towards the directions each of them had come from: Armande’s to the North, Vale’s to the South, and Rowan’s to the West.

The world descended into darkness once more.

---

Rowan opened her eye with a gasp. She found herself on the ground, cradled in Vale’s arms. The other woman was silent, but Rowan knew that she had seen the same vision. Had Armande? She slowly turned her head towards her other lover and called out to him with an effort, “We must head west from here – directly west. We will find the pillar. From the pillar we can find the other three keys.”

Darkness descended upon the world once more, but this time, it was the darkness of sleep come to take Rowan.