Can't Stand the Distance, Can't Dream Alone [open to all]

[applesaucemod]

The sleeping rifties might have a difficult time realizing they're dreaming this evening, in part because tonight's dreams are atypically vivid, even compared to the rift's usual efforts. Perhaps that is because it's drawing so heavily from the memories of the dreamers, themselves, and using that information to recreate their home worlds in stunning detail. And that is the real reason the dreamers might not be eager to accept the unreality of the situation: the situation is one that many of them have been hoping for for months or even years. In their dreams tonight, the rifties are going home.

Perhaps they arrive in the same moment that they left. Perhaps months have passed at home, or they might even find themselves arriving before their departure point. But those are small details when compared to the overwhelming realization that they're back where they belong.

They're not alone. Many dreamers will find the rift has given them a companion for the return trip. Well, an uncomplicated return home is probably more than anyone could have hoped for, anyway. And for the unwitting visitor, perhaps another universal displacement will be easier to bear with the addition of a local guide.

[ooc: usual dream party rules apply; all are welcome, and dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. Also at the players' discretion: when their character arrives in their 'home universe,' and how many (if any) locals they'd want to run into.]

Comments

[johnny_truant]

The hellish bestiary is scrambling away now, scattering under the looming monster Illyria has become. Johnny doesn't blame them. Fuck, he hopes she's still on his side. He's still gaping up at her, unable to move, when she starts to talk to him. Sort of.

Voice in his head, this time a real one. All right. It doesn't sound like her - well, it doesn't sound like anything, it's just thoughts that aren't his. It's weird, knowing they aren't his. Like if his body moved without his permission.

He's still adjusting to the sensation when another monster swoops down near him, and he ducks and covers his head in a frozen prey response before he realizes it's just - sitting there, waiting. It's a dragon creature, the ones with the ass engines. Hovering and not even bothering to look at him. Illyria's talking to him again, and he's struggling to keep up with the actual words in the midst of all his panic. What is she saying? Guide what himself, what will listen? What is she...

...Oh.

She's telling him to drive the fucking dragon.

"Ha, hahaha," he hears himself say, manic, shrill sort of laughter. Well why the fuck not?! Given the way this day is going.

He hoists himself onto the thing.

"Okay," he says, settling in front of its wings, grasping weakly at its scaly neck. "Is there an ignition key or something? How do I make it go?"

He's not even bothering to direct these questions at Illyria, but it doesn't matter; the beast seems to understand him, and lifts up, causing him to jerk and grab on a lot tighter.

"Hohhhfuck. Okay. All right." He breathes in and out rapidly, trying to keep from totally losing his shit. "All right, uh, nice dragon. Let's... follow the giant bug lady, all right?"

The dragon huffs out a vaguely acquiescent growl and flaps once, heavy and loud, to fall alongside Illyria, its engines flaring up worrisomely. Johnny allows himself to become completely preoccupied with staying on the thing, working hard at not thinking about anything else. He recognizes that he's pretty close to falling apart, but it's also hard to fall apart when you're riding a fucking dragon.

this thread is fucking ridiculous and it's kind of wonderful

[noteasybeingblue]

The mortal understands their command; good. This will make its removal from the central battlefield much easier. Unfortunately, an approaching cacophony heralds a new, powerful challenger, interrupting their trajectory to the city's edge.

Illyria recognizes this one.

Baticus, they growl, for the benefit of their new brethren as much as for the mortal they have now been sworn to protect. They doubt it will recognize the opponent as Illyria has.

The spined worm crashes into their armored hide, stirring the newly accumulated horde of winged beasts into the air with a multitude of shrieks. Baticus' own flock of draconian creatures swarms out from behind the crumbling builds of mortal make to greet them.

The God-King can devote no further time to watching over an amoeba of a human thing, not when they are assaulted on all sides. Whiplike tentacles drive themselves at the assailant, thrusting it away, and they have only enough time to dispense upon their protectorate two simple words of advice:

Defend yourself.

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON, OR: PANICKED YELLING AND HOPING IT STICKS

[johnny_truant]

Johnny gapes at the gigantic monster worm launching itself at Illyria, then clings in a panic as the dragon swoops out of the thrashing-tentacle radius.

Illyria's advice 'enters' his head and he lets out a loud, derisive whoop, pointless and immediately swallowed by the cacophony of the monster fight. "YEAH I'LL GET RIGHT ON THAT," he snaps back, though he can hardly hear himself.

Defend himself from what? With what?

Oh, there's... oh, the worm thing has dragons too. Oh, several of them are coming toward him now. Okay. Good.

"Jesus Christ, get us the fuck out of here, god damn!" he yells at his dubious steed, which turns in a sharp arc and neatly dodges a swath of firebursts.

"Shit!" Johnny yelps, feeling singed, paranoid that part of him might actually be on fire. "Wait, can you do that??"

His dragon huffs again and angles itself back toward the enemies ranks, cocks its head back (causing Johnny to slide back and catch himself awkwardly on its wings) and heaves a decent fireball back. The enemy dragons scatter, but his dragon jerks slightly as it compensates for Johnny's weight against its wings, and the blast curves oddly and ends up catching one of them dead center and evaporating it.

"SUCK IT!" Johnny screams in completely unhinged surprise, and flips the rest of the dragons the bird. "Yeah!!"

More are coming, obviously. He feels like he's getting the hang of this (he is not, he is only manifesting his panic efficiently). He re-settles himself on the dragon's neck, slightly better prepped for the next shot. "Take out that fucker right there!" he suggests helpfully, pointing at another oncomer.

The dragon ignores him, firing consecutively at two other targets, then diving to dodge Johnny's chosen target.

"Okay FINE," says Johnny. "YOU pick. I'll just SIT HERE."

The dragon huffs, seeming to find this agreeable.

[noteasybeingblue]

The small mortal's triumph goes unnoticed by the God-King; they are currently preoccupied with their old enemy. Baticus is proving as slippery and vermicular an opponent as always, weaving their way past Illyria's striking attacks to aim at their ocular vulnerable point. They manage to stave off the creature's assault each time, but Illyria is quickly growing weary of this onslaught.

It seems Illyria's pathetic, disappointingly puny army is applying itself to distracting Baticus' accumulated forces. This is an unexpected asset.

Illyria has grown tired of this battle. With a high, screaming roar, they smash into Baticus directly and flip them into the nearest Hell-fissure with a well-placed application of torquing appendages and forward momentum. From there it is a matter of crushing one of the nearest skyscraper constructs, tipping its tumbled debris into the crevice after the streamlined ophidian monster, burying it. Burying it in Hell. Where it belongs.

This will not hold it long. This has deterred it, not defeated it, but Baticus is dealt with for the time being. Therefore its forces will either fight their opponent or flee, leaving Illyria's charge a rare window.

Get to the city's edge, Illyria orders, momentarily redirecting their attention to the mortal that is, by some untold miracle, still alive and howling. Do not abandon your mount until you get there or you will perish.

[johnny_truant]

By now, Johnny's pretty ready to just do whatever the heck Illyria tells him. "What she said," he commands appeals to his dragon, which is already heading off, firing up its biologically improbable engines and zooming through a gap in the enemy forces. Johnny ducks down avoid being blown off by the wind, and glances once over his shoulder to see Illyria still thrashing around. He feels his mood drop quickly, crashing and burning really, all that manic adrenaline-fueled energy of battle barely surviving gone, replaced with hollow emptiness. His city is totally fucking destroyed. He has no idea how he got here. No idea where Gabriel is, or anyone, or if there's any way out. He's literally in Hell, all alone.

God, wouldn't it be fucking great if he ran into Satan right now? That would just be the fucking cherry on top of this avalanched shit sundae.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Considering that Johnny is in the air, it would be difficult for him to literally run into Satan; he does, however, seem to be heading in a trajectory that takes him over what appears to be just a varitable cornucopia of corpses. And, steadily pushing towards the inner city, gore-soaked and moving with mechanical efficiency, is Satan.

It turns out that the chest-punching thing works fairly well on whatever creatures actually have hearts. The ones that don't have essentially the same thing occur, just at head-height instead.

Lucifer doesn't appear to notice one measly human on an ass-engine dragon, because he has more important things to do, like kill things. And, really, that's probably for the best.

[noteasybeingblue]

Baticus does not last much longer beneath the might of Illyria's true form. They do not succeed in killing it, as Old Ones cannot so easily be killed, but they have subdued it and its rabble of an army is in shambles. Illyria can make their slow, juggernaut path to the city's edge, never mind that they may terrify the few thousand mayflies that have managed to last as long as they have. Their charge's mount is faster than this shape, and it will in all likelihood reach its destination first.

They soon become distracted, however, by the thing that drives itself to the center of the battle with unholy speed for something of such a diminutive size. Illyria calls that they themselves were human-shaped not terribly long ago, and therefore size is not a fair indication of strength. This thing seems to have a great deal of it.

Intriguing.

There is a cataclysm, they inform their charge. It seems necessary to warn it, seeing as it is the closest thing they have to a Qwa'ha Xahn at this present time. I will seek it out. There may be repercussions.

There will likely be repercussions.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny jerks sharply as Illyria's voice enters his head again. "God," he grunts irritably. "Okay, whatever."

The dragon swerves slightly to fall alongside Illyria as she plods up behind them, and Johnny glances down and notices the, um, oddly multiplying pile of monster corpses.

"What the fuck," he mutters, as the dragon dips a little lower, staring at the - is that a human? Or another Illyria type thing? - at the center of the fray. Actually, hang on, he looks familiar.

No. NO.

"You've GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME." He leans back on the dragon like he's trying to guide it back up, but it ignores him, knocking him back into place with an impatient flap. Johnny looks up at Illyria. "It's the fucking DEVIL!"

He doubts she can hear him, or that she cares. What is he supposed to do, man.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

It is, indeed, the fucking Devil, and the Devil is going to town on these not-demons that are just all over the place. It's actually pretty cathartic, being able to crush something's skull between his hands and just have the skull-crushees just never run out. He smites these abominable creatures, strikes them down like the terrible weapon of Heaven that he is. This had been his purpose once, destroying what their Father would find hateful in His sight.

His bloodbath is interrupted by the approach of something large and horrible. Another thing that his Father would find hateful, no doubt, but he is trapped still in this vessel. It would be something of a challenge to take down this giant beast while stuck a mere fraction of his true glory.

And Johnny isn't even a blip on his metaphorical radar. Sorry, kid.

[noteasybeingblue]

They do not quite understand the sentiment of the fucking Devil; Illyria simply knows the thing as the Morningstar, and it has not been seen in a mortal plane for many ages. It seems that in plunging the Los Angeles into Hell, the Senior Partners have dredged up the truly dark and terrible to raze this city.

Illyria is less perturbed about this development than their impromptu Qwa'ha Xahn.

I will eliminate the fucking Devil, they assure it confidently, adapting the awkward terminology for the benefit of mortal comprehension and for reasons they cannot presently enumerate. It cannot match my true form.

They are an armored colossus, slow but impenetrable, truly. None of the demonic ephemera have managed to crack through Illyria's great organic defenses and even fewer have come close to breaching their metaphysical ones. Yet this thing they detect is vast. If Illyria's shell can break and expose the true form, is the Morningstar also capable of such a feat? The thought stirs the latent remains of human emotion that still seem to be infuriatingly trapped in Illyria's ancient mind. It takes them a moment to define the sensation. It is nothing so despicable as fear. It is merely trepidation.

[johnny_truant]

Johnny is perfectly all right going unnoticed, especially while his stupid dragon keeps flying closer to Illyria.

He barks out a laugh when Illyria echoes his word choice, but he's also weirdly comforted by her confidence. Maybe she's right. Maybe she can take Lucifer down.

Distantly he wonders how that would affect Gabe. Gabe doesn't like Lucifer, but they're... family. He won't talk about it much, but it seems really complicated. Like this could hurt him.

But Gabe isn't here, and Johnny's in no position to be thinking clearly. His dragon finally banks a hard right and lands them on a building that has not yet fallen. Like they're spectating. Johnny would laugh if - oh no wait he is laughing. Manically. Sort of losing his shit. Get it together, Johnny.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Lucifer looks at the approaching monstrosity; feels it, the awful, twisting, brute-force power of it, and after a moment or two there is recognition. This is the thing in the stolen girl-body that he'd fought in a dream once, the useless fight that did nothing but provide him with some understanding of its strength and tactics. It is free now, unshackled by the constraints of a mortal vessel, the little hellish vermin that surround it unable to even make a dent in its defenses. It seems to notice them about as much as a human notices the ants they tread on.

The demons still crowd to attack him; Lucifer pushes with his Grace and they are burned out of existence in a wide radius around him. They are less keen after that.

When he speaks, it isn't with his vessel's voice; it would never be able to go far enough for Illyria to hear him. He speaks as beings like themselves do-- directly, without the middle-man of sound vibrations.

"Well, fancy seeing you here, Illyria the Merciless."

[noteasybeingblue]

There it is.

They recognize it immediately, a savage appreciation for the truth of its being. The Morningstar. The epitome of sin, Hellfire, destruction - or so it is said. It is so small here, and Illyria so vast. Will this be to their detriment?

Slow to arrive, are you not? they taunt it regardless, absolute in their whole form. The city has been cast into Hell, and you have only just begun to wreak small destruction.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"This is not my Hell," he replies, tilting his head at Illyria's bulk. "These are not my demons. They can burn this city and slaughter every man, woman, and child for all I care."

So long as the demons didn't attack him, Lucifer has no investment in these people or their city and no reason to protect it. Let them burn it all. If they knew what's good for them, they would let him pass and he could watch the flames from a nice vantage point. He's always planned to have front-row seats for the Apocalypse, and this is just like Apocalypse-Lite. The teaser-trailer, coming soon to a planet near you.

[noteasybeingblue]

This brings them pause.

Angel requested they protect the silly things, which is not in their nature and rather an offensive suggestion, yet they have complied with this. It gives them a goal. It gives them purpose. It allows them to wreak complete destruction on the variegated collection of Hellspawn that have risen from the Pit.

To admit this would make them far more deserving of the Morningstar's scorn.

Would you attack those mortals that have lasted so long, even now? they demand, grinding the sentiment with a territorial, predatory challenge. They belong to Illyria, even the yowling thing perched on its unsteady draconian mount. The Morningstar would not do to encroach upon their territory.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"Do I really need to?" he asks in return. "It seems like all I'd have to do is wait."

The demons are many and even if they are killed in swathes, they are quickly replaced by more of their kind. It may be amusing for someone of their power to simply cut them down endlessly, a bloodbath that lasts as long as they like, but for the mortals? It's an oncoming tide that does not seem likely to be turned aside.

He picks bits of demon out from under his nails.

"And even if I wanted to kill them, you couldn't stop me."

[noteasybeingblue]

That, states Illyria icily, is a failure of perspective.

Being returned to their former glorious state has rendered them incautious. Some distant part of themselves that still clings to the shell-memories is aware of this.

The Morningstar is not incorrect, however. Unless the Senior Partners boast an unanticipated change of heart, all of the Los Angeles will drown in Hell for all eternity, and the demons will swarm over and slaughter every human they see. Those unlucky enough to survive will be enslaved, if they have not already, to endure endless torment.

Illyria knows Angel wishes to save them. It is an utterly pointless attempt, driven by revolting human optimism. There is very little chance that such a plan to rescue so many weak, easily broken creatures would result in anything but failure.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"Which part? That any humans here are dead already and just don't know it, or that if I wanted to make them dead a little quicker, you couldn't keep me?"

His hands are bloody, and he is giving more attention to them than he apparently is the giant mass of eldritch abomination towering near him. He does not fear Illyria; he does not fear the strength in their massive body, physical or otherwise. He is light and glory and ice and chaos all bundled up inside this living flesh, and if Illyria pushes, they may find that he's a little too much for them to chew.

A little too spicy for Yog-Sothoth.

"Let's be honest: it would be far kinder for me to go slaughter them all than to have them wait and hope just to be taken by the demons. I, at least, would kill them quickly."

[noteasybeingblue]

That marks a reasonable point. This would be Illyria's edict had they not sworn their oath. True form or no, their word still stands.

You speak truthfully, they admit. They stay and they will suffer. But that is my choice. They are not to be touched.

They are not operating under orders. Merely suggestions. It may be that any creature seeking to encroach on Illyria's domain will simply be opposed regardless of the brand of reason it divulges.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"It's a foolish choice."

And this is why Lucifer doesn't make oaths; they get in the way of what should be done, what would make the most sense to do. It's a very human thing.

"Is this why you were called merciless, Illyria? Does it give you greater pleasure to make them wait for death? To know the exact moment when their hopes are crushed, when they see the inevitability of their fates?"

There is disdain in every word.

"If you're trying to protect them, you're doing it wrong. They're cattle in the slaughterhouse, Illyria, and you're letting them stand among the corpses and fester in the terror of it."

[noteasybeingblue]

Human it is indeed, and that is precisely what worries the God-King. Worry - a ridiculous concept, thoroughly mortal in nature, and it has begun to infect them in earnest. They have spent too much time walled within that shell. It has damaged their very foundations. They wish they could squirm away from it but it persists, horribly. Humanity has that cursed effect, so inherently virulent that it even creeps to seep into the minds and thoughts of its elders.

I am doing, they begin, the doubt nonexistent, and hesitate. What Angel has requested? No; this would sound as if they bow to some form of control. They follow no orders. They have simply taken that request under advisement. I am doing what is necessary. For my own amusement.

That is their only motivation. It must be. They are Merciless, endless, ruthless. They do not simply obey, blindly. They do not show mercy. They do not.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

Something is... off, about that answer. Lucifer does not believe it; he thinks this abomination is lying to him. Or, at the very least, not telling the whole truth. It's the hesitation, perhaps-- so called God-Kings do not hesitate. They shouldn't hesitate, anyway.

So, Lucifer pushes the issue.

"You will have to find your amusement elsewhere," he says. "I will grant mercy where you will not."

[noteasybeingblue]

Try it and die, vermin, they snap back with significantly more ire than their coldly serene air has warranted. They are mine.

They protect the humans for their own purposes, not for the benefit of any other. Yet they have - offered to defend them at Illyria's own expense.

Despite their true, hulking form, Illyria does not recognize themself anymore.

The thought is, abstractly, terrifying.

Terror. Human terror. They are experiencing human terror.

No.

They need violence. Violence will stop this. Violence will remind them of what they are, how little mortality really is to them. They will take pleasure in their violence.

[wentdowntogeorgia]

"I think the abomination protests too much."

He is completely placid, standing there with his vessel soaked in gore and speaking to a towering monster. His expression has not wavered from its mild neutrality, like a pond full of still water.

"You know what I can do, Illyria. You know that if I want to, I can be among them in an instant and you cannot follow me without crushing them all beneath you. Your threats are empty and you are toothless. Please, stop your posturing-- it's embarrassing."

[noteasybeingblue]

Your efforts will result in failure.

Yet they are steeped in doubt. In doubt.

I have my own loyalists. They will stop you.

But they are a small army, hopeless against the Morningstar, whose devotion can be easily bought.

You will not get far, Pit-creature.

The building behind them cracks unexpectedly, and Illyria's great eye sweeps around in time to play witness to the many-tentacle horrors attempting to uproot it. They look to be succeeding. Illyria swats at them with a clawed, whiplike limb but the damage is done and the construction will soon fail completely.

A spurt of - of - is that best categorized as annoyance? - shoots through them to realize that the human they most recently swore to protect has not made its path to the city's outskirts but rather elected to stay and observe the proceedings.

I suggest you move, human, they order it darkly. Lest you perish.