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"Stop them," Wraith corrected, having...mostly gotten herself settled, though she'd spent the intervening moments hanging over Four in an unsettlingly predatory way, never taking more than two eyes off him. "We are better than they are - we must be. We do not 'destroy', when discussing people."

 

"....mostly," she admitted, still looming as Four got taken away. "Still, we know where to go now, and we know - perhaps - what we can expect. As they now have information from the book, we may not want to wait."

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"There is not a single word in that name that I find satisfactory," said Eliza after Four reeled off the title of the cult. "Perhaps one day, we will run into a cultist of a dark god who wishes to summon their terrible patron in reality for the mere purpose of a bake sale or a baptism. Not a bake sale of poisoned goods or a baptism in blood, just... normal church matters. But that day's clearly long off in the distance."

 

She looked to Tarva. "Destroying them is - theoretically, on the level of 'can' - one way to do it. Still, leaving them bloodied and broken does not necessarily win the trust of those who view such matters from the outside - and leads a better chance of leaving martyrs for those who follow the same dark god. The best way to do it is to break the god or the faith, not the practitioners. Show that their god is not great, or show that their god does not truly care for his flock." 

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"This is why you don't agree to steal evil books for crazy people," Kimber chided the unarmored Four with a sigh, looking between the other women. Weathering a relatively diplomatic correction from Indira was one thing but listening to Eliza suggest picking a fight with a deity wasn't going to do anything enjoyable to Tarva's mood. "Now everybody wants to destroy everybody and it's all blood this and ritual that. We're going to have to find you a respectable job! Once you get out of prison."

 

Giving him an unnervingly friendly wave as he was taken into custody she floated over to the main conversation. "I think we're all on pretty much the same page, eh?" she soothed, looking to the Kinigosi huntress for backup. They couldn't rely on Eve pulling rank every time there was friction, after all. "We'll stop the summoning and take it from there! And maybe punch the gross psychic guy in the face a lot!"

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"Y-yes, of course," said Tarva, looking away from Temperance as her eyes flashed black. That look usually meant an imminent flight to her room and pouring out her soul onto the page - and maybe seeking Kimber out late that night as well. "In any event, I should..." But today, it seemed, was different. She looked around the bank and the arriving police, then back at Ghost Girl and Blue Fox. "It sounds like a grand gala, doesn't it?" She smiled, clapping her hands together. "I have experience with the cultists of dread gods," she said, her tone artificially light. "you know, here and there. You should take me with you.

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"Exactly, we shou-- sorry, what?" Kimber's attempt at placation was derailed by the unexpected suggestion. "Well, that... does make sense, yes. Can you, ah, we'll be right back, two minutes, really." She tilted her head not-so-subtly to one side and drifted off into one corner of the bank, away from the other heroines and the police taken statements from shaken hostages; it hadn't been the most reassuring rescue, admittedly.

 

Waiting until Tarva had followed after her she made sure she was floating high enough off of the tile floor to look the taller woman in the eyes. "Sorry, sorry, I wasn't trying to embarrass you," she apologized, scythe hanging loosely at one side while her empty hand crossed her stomach to wrap around her opposite arm. "You're right, you're probably our best chance for this specific brand of spooky but you've always had some pretty specific things to say about picking fights with primordial beings, liquorice whip. You already earned a gold star for heroing today if this is about earning your keep again." She was keeping her tone level and reasonable but they both knew that Tarva wasn't nearly so impervious to harm as Indira or Kimber herself, something the shadow witch's manifold fears underlined for her. Especially if they were going to be fighting dark mages versed in tricks similar to those Tarva used to protect herself the unexpected shift from self-preservation to altruism was dredging up some specific fears of the ghost's own.

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Eve gave Kimber and Tarva that two minutes, but she ended up interrupting them anyway.

 

"I won't compel you to come," Eve said speaking to the shadow-witch.  "But I will not turn you away if you wish to aid us."  The telepath wasn't a fool, she knew why Tarva appeared at the bank and why she wanted to continue with the rest of the team, but there was precious little time to even pretend to be amused at people trying to hide things from her.

 

--Those that need it, pack a bag, we might be a while.  Plane leaves as soon as we're ready.--

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Reaching the home ground of The Church of the Precious Blood Of The Lamb That Will One Day Cleanse The World Of The Fallen (aka the Blood Cult) required a flight from Atlantic City to the tiny municipal airport near Presque Isle in the extreme north of Maine, its runway so small it could barely accommodate Blue Fox's private jet. Once there, the heroes wound up traveling through the warm, clutching confines of one of Tarva's shadow gates (because it was faster than walking or flying) out to the Blood Cult's compound in the North Woods. Tarva's gateway deposited them on a logging road near the complex, Four's description of the area proving reasonably accurate. 

 

Tarva had been tense and quiet on the plane, meditating cross-legged by herself near the rear of the jet, and now stuck close to Kimber as they approached their destination, her black dress strangely not catching on the trees as they went. By now it was evening, not long after sunset, a cold night in the far northern woods, the wind seeming to come from Thunder Bay itself as it rustled through the pine woods. This was usually logging country, but the immediate area looked to have gone untouched for at least a generation - for all that the forest itself seemed a little too dark and a little too alien for them. 

 

The cult's compound, a converted farm, was strange to look at in the dim light of evening. With the high pine trees rising on either side, no sound of cars or trucks in the distance, and the sky overhead dappled with stars, the wooden buildings of the farm might have come from a century in the past. The barbed wire around the square lot, glowing electric lights, and rusty barbed wire fences adorned with No Trespassing signs were obviously of a more recent vintage. Five guards were just visible from where the heroes watched from the woods - one at each corner of the lot, and another at the gate. Lights were on in the buildings, and there were signs of activity happening everywhere. 

 

 

cultcompound.png

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Temperance didn't feel the cold. It was one of the benefits of being born of water, and kind of essential when you went around with a mask of ice spot welded to your face as part of your heroic disguise. But looking on the compound, she felt a chill that bit deeper than the winters of Maine. She'd run into occult operations more than once, but they were usually limited in scope - one sorcerer or demon, maybe with some summoned backup, running a back alley operation selling souls or servants or promises of power. She'd dealt with large forces before, of course, but it was a bit different when those larges forces had conviction, divine backing... and civilians. 

 

"If we hit the power first, that will give them warning," she said, "and given the nature of their patron, they may be able to see in the dark anyway. We could try taking them out one by one, but there's probably only so far we can get with that..." Temperance tried to scrutinize the compound from afar, to see if there might be any servitors lurking about backstage. A second later, she recoiled, as if slapped across the face. 

 

"The good news is, we don't have to worry about watchmen in the spirit world. The bad news is, the local rituals have... twisted the area. Whatever's happened here has poured into the spirits, warping them. It's not quite a blight... but it will become one, if this isn't stopped." 

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"That is unfortunate," Wraith mused, crouching. Now that they were close to their enemy her surface could be seen rippling, changing from her usual sleek silver to something more matte and darker grey, like sylvanite or unworked iron. It didn't make her eyes any easier to see, though they could still be spotted by their absence - large, almond-shaped areas of absolute black.

 

"I would normally like to separate them from their light, but you may be correct - we do not know what they can do, especially if they are so active that they taint the land. Not everyone here can see well in darkness, either. And...we cannot assume they have only normal humans, or humanoids, available either."

 

She moved her weight slightly, craning her head rather bonelessly toward the compound. "We could split up, and strike the guards as one to remove them and be free to hunt, but it is risky if they do raise an alarm. We could stick together, and make a single strike where they are weakest, but they are more likely to notice. We could create a distraction to see how they respond and draw away some of their people, but it may make them more alert to the main attack...."

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In the dark of night with the wind whipping about with its bone-deep chill Kimber didn't look more solid so much as she radiated the distinct impression of being more real. Her edges were crisp and defined, rendered in a higher fidelity than the rest of the mundane world around her as she balanced her scythe over one shoulder and tilted her head to the side as Wraith laid out plans of attack. "Better to stick together for now, I think," she offered, sniffing the air contemplatively. "This place really is a big, stinky powder keg of fear. We don't really know enough about what's going on to try anything fancy, right?"

 

She didn't bother elaborating that she was still a little embarrassed that most of the bank robbers had gotten away when she'd gone ahead by herself earlier or that she had her own personal reasons for not wanting to split up while Tarva was joining them that night. She also hadn't felt the need to interrupt the witch's mediations on the plane or try to resume their conversation about the motivations behind the excursion. She might not have like silence but since the ritual in Jotunheim she could tolerate it well enough. "Your call, boss lady." She looked at Eve expectantly, waiting for instructions.

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From their staging point Blue Fox considered the five guards.  "I want to get an accurate head count from the compound," she said answering Kimber.  "I can do that telepathically but I will need someone to watch my body when my mind is elsewhere."  She looked at the team's spellweavers, "Find out what magical defenses they have, without giving yourselves away.  That will inform our next move."

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  • 3 weeks later...

Eve's psionic investigation revealed a strange, frightening scene at the cult encampment. There were no signs of the demons or other super-beings that the heroes had worried about encountering - just the half-dozen guards, all of them armed and looking tense, and the people inside. Oh, the people. The people inside the encampment were gradually filling up the chapel, turning off lights as they went and casting the place into darkness. The robed figure who had been described to them as the Disciple was there behind the pulpit, delivering a fiery sermon to a white-faced crowd of some fifty people, a mix of older people, singles and couples, and several families with small children. There were more guards here - another half-dozen, two at each of the chapel's three exits. 

 

The Disciple's sermon, as far as Eve could make it out, had a single focus - the Day of Rising was coming, the final breaking of the Seventh Seal that had been prophesied by the Book of Daniel 2500 years ago, the first Seal of which had been the Centurion and the Sixth had been the Terminus Invasion of 1993. Eve's psychic presence was just about to leave when the Disciple's assistant, a smiling, curly-haired woman in her fifties, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie beneath her long occult robes, entered through the rear of the chapel - pushing a brass cart loaded down with three big bowls of punch. 

 

"You all know what this means," said the Discipline, his voice stern as he locked gazes with the crowd. "It's time for the Exit Protocol." 

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  • 4 weeks later...

Eve's lips thinned behind her mask and she turned to regard her comrades.

 

--Wraith, with me, take out the sentries,-- she thought.  --Tarva, Ghost Girl, Crimson Tiger, rush the building.  There are guards inside and a lot of non-combatants, so be careful.  Temperance, you go with them.  Do not let them drink the punch.--

 

The psychic put a lot of emphasis on that last statement.

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The significance of the punch was somewhat lost on Wraith, but she trusted Eve's judgement: if she said the punch was bad and they needed to move now, then the punch was bad and they needed to move now.

 

--Understood,-- she thought back, body rippling into a low, bulky quadruped. Powerful clawed legs tore into the ground as she shot out from cover, but she was surprisingly quiet and low to the ground as she flew across the grass, ducking lights as best she could before hurling though the air into the first sentry.

 

The guard would have gotten a good, and terrifying, look at three black eyes on a body like a hellish alien dog-lizard before it slammed into him like...well, like nearly a quarter-ton of metal, driving him into the ground and blissful unconsciousness. He barely even slowed her down - no sooner had he fallen than she pushed off him, streaking toward the next of the guards like murder on legs.

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  • 2 weeks later...

As the heroines entered the cult compound, a white-faced Tarva gestured and a cloud of swift-running, red-eyed shadow-hounds erupted from the folds of her low-cut dress. Seeming to understand the intentions of the cultists with terrible certainty, she blasted right through the doors of the chapel, screaming at the top of her lungs. "YOU FOOLS! THEY AWAIT YOU EVEN BEYOND THE GRAVE!" Her hounds made straight for the punch bowl, knocking it aside and tearing apart the glass with loud crunching sounds, the poisoned liquid spilling out onto the chapel floor with a hiss. "WE ARE YOUR DELIVERERS FROM DAMNATION!

 

 

Outside, with the quick distraction of the guards, it proved easy enough for Blue Fox and Wraith to overcome them - they'd all seemed to be distracted by sudden squawks of alarm from their radios! But of course they'd seen Tarva go for the sanctuary - everyone had. 

 

 

A bullet bounced off the back of Tarva's head - she didn't turn around as she advanced on the Disciple, hounds pattering along after her. She raised her voice and actually managed to shout louder than the Disciple's amplifier, her voice like seven black legions howling at once. "YOU THINK YOU CAN TURN TO DARK GODS FOR YOUR SALVATION? I'LL SHOW YOU DARK GODS!

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Well. Temperance had to admit, Tarva did certainly know how to go loud. There was certainly something to blitzing the enemy's base with an army of hellhounds, demanding worship. Maybe I should try that one day... no. You kidding me? If she thought for one second I was biting her style, I would never hear the end of it. But while Tarva was doing the heavy work, Temperance knew she had to deal with the cleanup. While the Kool-Aid may have been spilt, it was still soaking up on the carpet - and she knew that, if these people were really intent on meeting their god, they wouldn't let something like old rug get in the way. 

 

With a bit of will, the poisoned punch pooled on the carpet, shifting through the fibers. The tacking was frayed in places, and she was just looking for a place where... there. The toxic solution filtered through the tacking and into the wooden floor; from there, it ran into the cracks, just enough to get trapped between floors. Not to drip down into the basement, but to pool and remain out of reach. At least, until someone grabbed a pickaxe. 

 

Now. Onto the big chaos. 

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With the cult leader understandably distracted he never noticed the spectral figure rising silently up through the floorboards behind him. Silent, that is, until her jaw unhinged and stretched in a way flesh never could have and disgorged a howling blizzard of preternatural cold. The freezing gale washed over the zealot, ice forming with an audible crack. Within moments he was encased up to his neck, rooted to the floor and trapped with arms akimbo.

 

"That was quick work, hun," Kimber praised as she pulled her face back into shape, checking her reflection in the ice as she worked her jaw back and forth. Floating over to Tarva she absently crouched midair to scratch one of the shadow hounds behind its vaguely defined ears. Turning her gaze upward she met the taller woman's eyes with a look that spoke volumes of appreciative approval for the show of straight-backed ferocity.

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  • 2 weeks later...

"You thought you could betray your world to dark gods!?" Tarva was demanding of the now-terrified parishoners. "Fools and miserable gutter trash! 'll show you DARK GODS-" She turned, interrupted, back to Kimber, and blinked as she seemed to come back to herself. "You are so beautiful, my angel of the night," she told Kimber with great sincerity. "I...I will go look for his lair. A real priest would have a way of calling his god," she said, turning to head down the aisle the way she'd come, the parishoners cowering from her the way they might a devil made flesh. 

 

As she did, one of the braver parishoners, a pale-faced fellow with old-fashioned round glasses and a beard that belied his youth, rose to his feet. "We weren't betraying our world. He Comes! He Comes Soon! We only sought an escape to the higher realms before we would be eaten!" 

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  • 3 weeks later...

Well. That was interesting. Temperance doubted the general wisdom of letting one's soul enter the higher realms when a spiritual entity with a maw like an angry garbage disposal might be showing up... but it was probably a better prospect than feeling any the crunchy bits hit your flesh and bone first. 

 

"So," she said, "you realized a bit too late why one does not play around with gods of evil and darkness. Especially ones that occasionally like to append 'all-devouring' as an honorific. Now, then. You say that he is coming. Where, exactly, is he going to be coming, and what sort of window of time are we looking at? I might like to say hello... insistently." She tried to remain calm so that the cultists would chill, but she had to admit, she was quaking a little. Aside from some potent spirits - and, well, the Communion - she didn't have much experience going toe-to-toe with something that could be classified as a large god. As in, part of a proper pantheon. She was sure she could, especially with the others at her side... but that still didn't help when she considered the sheer scale of it. 

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"Yes."

 

Wraith had apparently finished cleaning up outside with Blue Fox - though what entered the doorway was terribly alien, a three-eyed hunchback on long, unnaturally spindly limbs, one of which casually dragged the last of the guards in behind her to throw him unceremoniously over into one of the building's corners.

 

"It is a poor god that eats people," she noted, slowly withdrawing back into a more conventionally humanoid profile as she walked the aisle to join the others. "A good god watches over their...what is your word. 'Flock'? As with sheep? One that eats people who do not wish to be eaten is rabid, or not a god at all. Both should be brought down for the good of all."

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  • 3 weeks later...

Movies and comics about superheroes tend to leave out the cleanup - not just the physical, but the social. With the cult leader and his minions in hand came the Maine state police for the arrests, AEGIS to seize the artifacts that Tarva had tagged as potentially magically threatening, and the state DCFS to take the cult's children in the wake of the aborted mass suicide. 

 

The long night was over - in the morning hours, Kimber tracked Tarva down in what had once been the cult's communal nursery, now a scene of overturned toy boxes, blankets and baby items scattered everywhere, disordered items, and other things left behind by the intensive police search. Tarva was sitting amid several cribs when Kimber found her, appearing briefly as though she were behind bars herself when viewed from the wrong angle. The shadow-witch was holding a child's toy in her hand, turning it over and over, and singing softly to herself, "Jolly and pleasant just for the present; no sign of trouble in sight...

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While Kimber had her suspicions Tarva had never outright confirmed if her mystical training allowed her to sense the approach of spirits; she tended to keep those sorts of preparations and defences to herself unless pressed. Either way the poltergeist made a point of making a small sound in the back of her ethereal throat as she approached silently through the air. "Hey there, boon companion," she greeted with a smile as soft as her voice. She liked to think she'd gotten pretty good at recognizing Tarva's mood from her singing but it didn't take much insight to know the shadow witch was feeling low. Tucking her knees beneath her Kimber floated lower until she was levitating only just above the floor next to her lover. "I know this wasn't much of a champagne and confetti win but you know you did really good today, eh? Helped save a whole bunch of people. Me included, if you thought I'd forgotten." She nudged Tarva lightly with her elbow and looked down at the toy in the taller woman's hands then back up to study her expression.

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"You were being hurt. I couldn't allow that to happen," said Tarva simply. She sat the toy down and spun it, the red and gold top a flash of color against the neutral brown floor in the half-light of morning. Her shadows had withdrawn against her skin, leaving her clad in what looked like a tightly-fitting sweater and jeans made of black cobwebs. Reaching over, she took Kimber's hand, shoving aside the cribs with another so Kimber could join her without having to be half-in and half-out of solid matter. "This place reminds me of the old world. The forest all around, the people and their god. When I saw what they were planning to do, and why they were planning to do it-" She closed her fist. "If you had left me in another world, when you took me from the Terminus, I would be living somewhere like this. Or dead.

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"Maybe," Kimber admitted. "But we didn't and you're not." Her coat seemed to fall out of focus for a split second before resolving itself into a a flannel top with plaid in shades of blue and a pair of weathered looking jeans. Lacing her fingers with Tarva's she shifted closer to fit herself against the curves of the taller woman and rest her head on her shoulder. "The people who were here will get help and put their lives back together, hopefully." She lifted her free hand slightly and made a small gesture with her figures that set the top spinning again, a simple trick for a poltergeist. "Aaaaand when you're feeling up for it I'm going to thank you properly for the bank." Her mouth curved upward but stopped short of a smile, concern creasing the corners of her eyes as she watched Tarva and tried to imagine what she was thinking. "Do you want to just sit here for a while? We don't have to talk if you don't like."

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"I choose you," replied Tarva, returning Kimber's ghost of a smile with her own. The taller woman leaned against Kimber, long hair coiled in a tail down her back, taking advantage of Kimber's new solidity for some very real support. As the light came shining in through the windows outside, Tarva sent shadows chasing up the walls and over the windows, giving them darkness enough for Kimber to remain visible even as the sun rose outside. "I choose you - so we can destroy the nightmares.

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