"Will is the power of the verse. It is the very essence of power in both Angels and Demons, it is the ties that bind the universe, and it is the dust of all that has passed."
In the lonely shadows of an old church, abandoned by its practitioners for a good night's sleep or a few short hours of sinning, the battle for Will begins. The sacrifice of a soul, death of a celestial power, and a tear in the Veil; sum of a prophecy from before the Roman times, spoken as mantra by the Fallen in hell, heralding the rise of the damned and the fall of the divine.
Jordan Rhys James
The Our Lady of Peace Catholic Church was originally a thriving centre of the community when it was built back in the fifties. These days, however, it was home to a single priest and only a handful of semi-regular church-goers, and though it was loved by those few who made it their place of worship, it was obvious that the glory days had passed. Today, however, it was host to something a little bit different...
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"Finlay, take your squad, secure the area and make sure nobody finds their way in."
"On it, captain."
"Jacks, get on the radio and let Fortress know we've secured the target and are deailng with it now."
"Yessir."
A half dozen more orders were issued, finaly leaving the worship hall empty save for two people. One of them, the commander of the small strike force that had taken over the church, took a quiet moment to contemplate the other... a girl, not much more than a child, bound to a chair in the centre of the room. He regarded her with pity, but not the pity of a man reconsidering his actions. There was no hesistation here, no doubt. He had committed to this course of action with every ounce of his soul. HIS soul. But there was still pity. And he could be kind.
"I'm sorry, Jennifer," he said at last. He could offer that much. There would be screaming, soon, and he knew there would be no forgiveness, not from her. But part of his strength was doing what he did despite knowing that there could never truly be forgiveness. Nobody would ever thank him for this. It had to be done, however.
"Why are you doing this?" She had a sweet voice, even marred by the sobs halting her speech. She was scared. And confused. She was a good girl, always thought of others before herself. How could she have ever imagined herself in a situation like this? "How do you know who I am?"
Seamus had time. His soldiers would return soon and it would be time to finish this, but he had time. He knew she wouldn't understand or accept, but he did owe it to her to try. So he braced himself, then approached her, his thick combat boots sounding loudly on the floorboards as he crossed the room towards her. Then he squatted to sit on his heels. "Listen very carefully, Jennifer. This isn't your fault. But you've been marked by... people... who would use you. Did you ever wonder why your life has been so blessed? Why you've never been sick? Why you're luckier than anyone you know? This is no accident, Jennifer. They can't very well let their host die before they have a chance to use you, after all."
"What are you talking about?" Her response was typical, and nearly hysterical. She'd concluded that she was in the company of a madman, and he knew it. He'd heard it many times before. But he still owed it to them. They were innocent, and deserved at the very least the truth.
"Jennifer, I told you to listen. There are forces at play here beyond what they teach you in school. And they use us. Like chess pieces on a board. You've been chosen as a pawn, but I'm here to free you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
A hope, then. Maybe he was going to let her go. "Please? I just want to go home." And then she was sobbing again, confused. Not sure whether to be relieved or even more worried. There was an edge to his words that did little to comfort.
"Captain, Fortress confirmed our message. They've already got another lead for you to check out."
Seamus turned to regard jacks, rising up from his conversation. "Good. It's time to end this then." He turned to his pack, then, an old, worn but still serviceable hold over from his marine days. And from it he pulled out several items; a mid-sized notebook, chalk, salts of some sort. Some sort of medallion and a few other smaller relics.
"Captain, are you sure she's one of them? She's so...."
"Young? Yes, I'm sure Jacks." Seamus could still see the doubt, though. Jacks was new, he hadn't been a part of the mission as long as the others. His loyalty wasn't in question, but Seamus had, among other things, a good sense of the people about him. So he picked up his radio, thumbing the transmit button. "Harris, need you in here."
He hadn't long to wait. The church was small and Finlay had more than enough men, placed discreetly, to disuade any outside company. A firefight was highly unlikely, and Seamus had a better use for the company marksman. "You called, Sir?"
"Harris, shoot the girl."
Sometimes the chain of events in a given situation can get muddled. That is, it's hard, sometimes, to say which happens first, last, in the middle. Jacks would never really be able to piece it together. All he would know, later when he was thinking about it while trying to get to sleep, is that there was screaming.. from the girl, most likely... shock, mostly from himself... and of course the gunshot. Harris was good. In his short time with the company, Jacks had never heard of Harris missing anything. Jacks had watched as Harris had gone on to empty his entire clip. And not a single bullet touched the girl.
"They won't let her come to harm. She's protected, Jacks."
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"Finlay, take your squad, secure the area and make sure nobody finds their way in."
"On it, captain."
"Jacks, get on the radio and let Fortress know we've secured the target and are deailng with it now."
"Yessir."
A half dozen more orders were issued, finaly leaving the worship hall empty save for two people. One of them, the commander of the small strike force that had taken over the church, took a quiet moment to contemplate the other... a girl, not much more than a child, bound to a chair in the centre of the room. He regarded her with pity, but not the pity of a man reconsidering his actions. There was no hesistation here, no doubt. He had committed to this course of action with every ounce of his soul. HIS soul. But there was still pity. And he could be kind.
"I'm sorry, Jennifer," he said at last. He could offer that much. There would be screaming, soon, and he knew there would be no forgiveness, not from her. But part of his strength was doing what he did despite knowing that there could never truly be forgiveness. Nobody would ever thank him for this. It had to be done, however.
"Why are you doing this?" She had a sweet voice, even marred by the sobs halting her speech. She was scared. And confused. She was a good girl, always thought of others before herself. How could she have ever imagined herself in a situation like this? "How do you know who I am?"
Seamus had time. His soldiers would return soon and it would be time to finish this, but he had time. He knew she wouldn't understand or accept, but he did owe it to her to try. So he braced himself, then approached her, his thick combat boots sounding loudly on the floorboards as he crossed the room towards her. Then he squatted to sit on his heels. "Listen very carefully, Jennifer. This isn't your fault. But you've been marked by... people... who would use you. Did you ever wonder why your life has been so blessed? Why you've never been sick? Why you're luckier than anyone you know? This is no accident, Jennifer. They can't very well let their host die before they have a chance to use you, after all."
"What are you talking about?" Her response was typical, and nearly hysterical. She'd concluded that she was in the company of a madman, and he knew it. He'd heard it many times before. But he still owed it to them. They were innocent, and deserved at the very least the truth.
"Jennifer, I told you to listen. There are forces at play here beyond what they teach you in school. And they use us. Like chess pieces on a board. You've been chosen as a pawn, but I'm here to free you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
A hope, then. Maybe he was going to let her go. "Please? I just want to go home." And then she was sobbing again, confused. Not sure whether to be relieved or even more worried. There was an edge to his words that did little to comfort.
"Captain, Fortress confirmed our message. They've already got another lead for you to check out."
Seamus turned to regard jacks, rising up from his conversation. "Good. It's time to end this then." He turned to his pack, then, an old, worn but still serviceable hold over from his marine days. And from it he pulled out several items; a mid-sized notebook, chalk, salts of some sort. Some sort of medallion and a few other smaller relics.
"Captain, are you sure she's one of them? She's so...."
"Young? Yes, I'm sure Jacks." Seamus could still see the doubt, though. Jacks was new, he hadn't been a part of the mission as long as the others. His loyalty wasn't in question, but Seamus had, among other things, a good sense of the people about him. So he picked up his radio, thumbing the transmit button. "Harris, need you in here."
He hadn't long to wait. The church was small and Finlay had more than enough men, placed discreetly, to disuade any outside company. A firefight was highly unlikely, and Seamus had a better use for the company marksman. "You called, Sir?"
"Harris, shoot the girl."
Sometimes the chain of events in a given situation can get muddled. That is, it's hard, sometimes, to say which happens first, last, in the middle. Jacks would never really be able to piece it together. All he would know, later when he was thinking about it while trying to get to sleep, is that there was screaming.. from the girl, most likely... shock, mostly from himself... and of course the gunshot. Harris was good. In his short time with the company, Jacks had never heard of Harris missing anything. Jacks had watched as Harris had gone on to empty his entire clip. And not a single bullet touched the girl.
"They won't let her come to harm. She's protected, Jacks."
The words hardly had time to pass his lips before he felt it; the stir in the deepest, most primal instinct of his primate mind to run, to hide, to get to safety before the bad thing found him. Because he knew what it was he did not run, but he still felt it and it was not a testament to his courage or stupidity that he held his ground, it was a memory and his loyalty to another girl much like Jennifer. The men in his sights were stirring, wanting to run, and he could understand. None of them had been in the Presence before and he knew what was going through their minds as they struggled between their orders, their confusion, and the ever growing sense of immediate danger.
For a fraction of a second he scoffed the Presence mentally, comparing it to the Other. While one was all seduction, coils of mental rapture and promise, this one was always imposing, intimidating, arrogant. It came from with the territory, literally.
When the girl spoke it was calm, though tear-stains still streaked her face it was impassive, and he knew the Presence had arrived. The Angel.
“Seamus.” It said in its girlish, and yet-not, voice. It knew his name. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he always was, in his thoughts and in his dreams, but he moved on. Knowing that the Angel will have sensed his emotions he made no effort to hide them and instead moved into action. He had minutes to carry through.
He thumbed the radio-talk button. “Light ‘em up.”
From the four corners of the outside of the church came the sounds of flares, heard easily in the impending silence, and the Angel pinned Seamus with an accusing stare. Because of her, or his, arrogance it still hadn’t become aware of what was happening. So much for omniscience.
“Captain?” Harris said, finally bringing up the nerve to speak in the oppressive air brought on by the presence of a divine being.
“Take aim, Harris, and when I say fire. Keep firing until you’re out of ammo.”
The angel continued to watch him, looking for all the world carefree but he knew that the cogs were whirring blindingly fast behind those deceptive eyes. Minutes. He drew the medallion of his neck, the age of which was disguised by its crudeness, and began to sweat as his focus struggled with the ‘flight’ instinct in his mind. The sound of weapons cocking and raising was triumphant, drums of war in his thoughts, and they steadied his hand as he raised his notebook and began to recite words not spoken aloud since before the Romans.
His eyes flickered to the nearly invisible binding circle on the floor, the center of which house the body of the girl Jennifer, and the Angel’s eyes followed like a hawk narrowing on its prey... then it began. Seamus barely had the time to call out the order for his men to fire when the light exploded from Jennifer’s body, the Angel Presence screaming in defiance as it fought against the runes on the floor. His own voice should have been drowned out but it was not, continuing in an eerie, spine-tingling harmony with the screams of the Angel and the sounds of automatic gunfire in the amphitheatre of God.
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An hour later, Seamus closed the eyes of the girl that had been known as Jennifer and ordered his men to pull out of Our Lady of Peace. He left behind the scorched walls, the runes and sigils, and the body. He ordered the collection of clips, which with the exception of the presence of an extraordinary amount of gunpowder would mask the presence of his men and their weapons. Jennifer’s body held no bullets. Her singular, grisly wound was the cavity of her heart; the organ now removed and sealed in a canopic Jar settled in the bottom of Seamus’ rucksack.
As he walked away from the church, looking more like a vagrant than the warrior he was, Seamus gave no last look over his shoulder. He knew that the church was dead now too, a young girl dead alongside signs of witchcraft and devilry would chase away the believers and non-believers alike, and Seamus would move on. To the next town, state, wherever he had to go until he had them all.
The portal has been opened. Already the forces of hell conspire and heaven whispers for something has happened. Something inconceivable by either of the celestial families, unthinkable by anyone but man, and impossible for anyone but a warrior, broken and bonded by the same ties.
Angel or Demon. Sinner or Martyr.
Choose your path.
Angel or Demon. Sinner or Martyr.
Choose your path.
the RULES
Will
Whether it be heaven or hell, all divine beings desire one thing: Will. Will is the essence of life, of the universe, and it was God's gift to man. Given to the children made in his image it is sought out and desired by his other children, the blessed ones that reside near his throne in heaven and the outcast, the fallen ones, equally.
Will is power, it is magic, it is vice. It is everything, though man knows nothing of it. It is faith, the belief of man in the divine and in himself. Created on earth by man, by the simplest of thought and even simply by presence of consciousness, Will can only travel to the Veil once it has turned negative or positive.As suc h, the Presences (Angels and Demons) seek to either corrupt or raise men and influence their thoughts and actions. Angels seek to redeem, to sow love and trust, and to create positive Will. Demons, on the other hand, seek to corrupt, to twist and destroy, and to create negative Will.
Veil
The Veil is the place between realms, between heaven, earth, and hell, where angels and demons seek to influence the thoughts and actions of man. It is only in this place that the divine beings can manifest in their true forms, and also the only place that neither will come into conflict. It is the grey area between the worlds, the gathering place of Will, and as such it is volatile and dangerous. Any conflict in the Veil would promise dire consequences for all realms and, as such, it is the most ancient law of Heaven and Hell that no Angel nor Demon will ever battle in the Veil.
Because of this, the Veil may sometimes serve as a resting place or a meeting place but, most commonly, it is simply an access point. Because it mirrors our own, often mistaken as the 'spirit world' by humans with psychic sight, it is the ideal location for Angels and Demons to influence mankind.
Possession
Demonic:
Anyone one place where human minds are affected completely universally, their thoughts and emotions projecting a single, powerful and unanimous consistency, the Veil between worlds becomes so thin that powerful presences may trickle through, bringing with them other presences if they so desire. This is how demons enter our world. A place of mass slaughter, a monumental tragedy, and sometimes, rarely, an exceptionally powerful coven of psychics. Because it is the Will of God himself that bars Demons from entering the Earthly realm it is only through this means, and the power of the demon passing, that one may enter. Whispers of Demons from the Veil often times point humans in the directions required to make circumstances such as this occur, especially in times of war.
Angelic:
Because God gifted man with the power of Will, Angels often respectfully avoid the Earthly realm and leave it to man. It is only in the opposition of Demonic presences that the Angels will surface, and even then only in times of great peril, often at the sites of a crisis which might threaten the strength of the Veil. Though no law or rule forbids an Angel from entering the Earthly realm it is not commonly practiced, both with reservation of the consequences of such a thing on the human mind and out of love for their father, the Lord, whom deemed long ago that man would have free will in all things.
Possession takes its tole on the human mind, body, and spirit. Most times the human that was once possessed by one presence of the other is left barren, bereft of a soul of its own, and becomes a mere shell of what it once was if it survives the absence of its resident.
Demonic possession is the most common because it is possible to expel a demon without harming the host. If the demon can be bound and kept from doing damage withing the host, and if the body has not suffered serious injury before the exorcism, then the chances of survival are greatly increased. Demons can, however, leave a body before exorcism if not bound to it and travel from body to body. They can even exist in the Earthly realm outside of a body indefinitely, often appearing as shadows and smoke, but can only interact with the world inside of a body.
Angelic possession, however, is much more dangerous. The mind of the divine, children of God, is too great for mortal thought, the cosmic brilliance of which threatens to burn and blind if unleashed upon the earthly realm. Upon entering the body of its host, the soul is instantly expelled and the Angel takes permanent residence, only to leave once the mission is completed. Once the Angel departs the body of the host is often times left for dead, or admitted to a hospital in a deep coma, never to wake. Because of this the hosts of Angels are carefully chosen at birth, sometimes even created through the whispers beyond the veil, and marked. They are called Vessels, and they will live long lives blessed with exceptional luck and health, dying only of old age while under the protection of its guardian.
It is nearly impossible to tell the possession of a body and only the most powerful of psychics are able to divine the nature of a soul, and presence of a celestial, usually at the cost of their own lives once the recognition has been made.
Posting Location
Because of the mutliple locations you could be located at any one time, Earth, Hell, etc., it's prudent that you post where your post is taking place to avoid any confusion. Here is a color code for you to use, however it's not mandatory:
Hell - shades of red.
Earth - shades of green
Heaven - shades of blue
Veil - shades of violet
