"—fucking satanic bitch!" Corazón grabbed damp handfuls of Constance's pale hair and pulled hard. "Let him go, you possessed cunt!"
In a serpentine hiss, the Countess withdrew from Rafel. Her eyes bore crazy delight as she licked her lips. Rafel had some chew marks on his upper lip from where the she-devil had nicked him. His own eyes burned in hot crimson fury. They were now a bit further from the mana-drowning system of the Sanctum, so he could pull on his [Helflame].
He did speedily, feeling the fires of the abyss roar in his chest and halo his infernal organ as he boomed out. "ENOUGH! RELEASE HER, UNCLE!"
In the normal occasion of an exorcism, it would be fit to utter, 'Release her, Devil!' or something along the lines, but this wasn't a normal occasion—it was a demon performing the exorcism; a demon whose uncle was the literal devil.
It was this Hel prince that was strong enough to banish the darkness, rather than the shaken priest who stood shivering in the corner, his hands clasped in prayer to a God he hoped was listening.
Rafel's palms charged with infernal light and his fingers surged with red effervescence. He slammed them both down onto Constance's eerie floating body, getting her in her torso. She jerked once in the air and hit the bed.
Her mouth opened in a silent, round O. But no sound escaped as she stretched about the iron chains. Rather, a very rattling flatulence hit the air from her bum, sounding sharply in the room.
Rafel would roll his eyes if he was one to. It was just like his Uncle Lucifer to consider humor even when being forcefully shopped out of a body. Few demons used the anal route to leave a possessed victim. Even fewer made a sound when they did. The ranks of Hellions, [Third Hel Class] and above, which could possess a mortal form liked to exit through the vocal pathways or nasal sinuses.
But never the arse. Definitely not the shithole.
Clearly, his uncle gladly picked messy over cool. It was perhaps just to spite his nephew, Rafel reasoned. He wasn't dwelling on the fart though.
Constance's body fell back heavily to the bed and the springs groaned. Her limbs and mind belonged to her again, and Lucifer's voice was gone; the one that sounded to the Highfather like ants were crawling up his cassock gators. The Vicar wobbled close from his hidden perch by the stone walls when Constance Medici opened her eyes and it wasn't utter black.
She had stopped foaming in the mouth too, and the foul dialect had ceased from her mouth. She looked around from the narrow cot and noticed she identified everyone around her on the bed.
"What happened?" She touched a hand to her wet, white hair, though it was more of gray now and smelled like illegal broth.
"We should be asking you that, blood bitch." Cora pinned her with fierce blue eyes left of the squeaky bed. She wasn't smiling.
"Oh god." Constance felt down her soiled dress to find it ripped at her rib sides; she was spilling side boob. "Ugh. I stink." Her aquiline nose turned up, like she couldn't quite fathom her own odor. Guess the nobility in her was back. "—and where are the rest of my clothes?"
"Do we look like we give a shit?"
Rafel didn't stop Cora's verbal assault on the Countess. He did not care neither for her slight nudity or smell. In the dank pits of Hel's lesser fighting grounds, he had smelled worse. And besides, if Constance ever decided to bottle up her ooze right now, she'd make a killing amongst the Bonereavers—and that included the farting.
"A possession doesn't just happen, blood witch," said the Apollyon. "Tell us what happened."
"I-I..." Constance stuttered.
"There's more." Constance's returned voice wove into Rafel's subconscious, piercing his fusion with his system. Rafel opened his shut eyes. She took this as a sign and continued. "While I was...uh, possessed, I had a vision. I can show you if you let me. But I'll need a clairvoyant.
Is there any?"
Rafel turned to Rosamunde. She was of the opinion that she was still manifesting her ability to see into the future, but she was a powerful Scryer if Rafel had seen any. She got the meaning in his eyes and stepped closer to the cot. "Everyone, come. Gather close to her now and touch some part of her body. Any part."
Rosa ushered her friends and the Vicar to touch Constance as she said, "now, think of the vision which you saw." Constance closed her eyes softly and Rosa commanded her righteous system into the stone chamber.
"Sacred Arts! Ripples of Jordan! Open thy Veils!"
The sound of rushing water filled everyone's heads as the room burst into a sudden mirage. The stone walls faded in a bright light, and in a moment's worth, they all stood in a new place. Constance still sat on the asylum bed and cracked one eye open to view the surroundings; it was her vision alright! They had been transported into it.
It was an illusion though—they still were all in the cavern under the Sanctum—but what an illusion it was. Your adventure continues at empire
The white light dimmed as a red sky opened up above them. The sun was scarlet. Wyverns dashed around in the bleak horizon. Weird ripples of lightning flashed overhead. Souls screamed in a cyclone of agony. The pain and misery, palpable.
One word: Hel.
In the vision, Constance's vision, a figure appeared in a gathering of wolfbats. The apparition abruptly materialized in front of the stricken group. It was so real. The sulphuric scent. The burning. The hot air, charring the skin.
If not that Constance still sat on the bed, Ravenna would've said they stood in the real Abyss. All of them had hands out, touching the blood Countess.
When the wolfbats cleared away, a woman stood in their place. She was a Giant—literally.
She was over 20ft tall. And the tip of the [Flame Bident] she wielded stroked zagged crimson nimbus. Her gown was like the Nile. Long. Red. Without end.
It stretched on and on behind her. A dog with three heads woofed at her left and a large wyvern dropped behind her, marking the fiery helscape with a brandishing tail.
This woman could he described as infernally beautiful. She had a body that could only be carved of the Underworld gods with sin in their hearts.
Gently, the red-appareled smiled; her flowing hair was crimson as deep mahogany and breezed about in the chaos, like none of it mattered. She seemed to read the group's collective mind because she clutched elegant, slender fingers around her Bident. When she spoke, all the souls stopped groaning. A hush, over all of the abyss.
"Hel is a place," she offered, "but also a person."
She reached down her hand from her towering form and gently ruffled the ruddy hairs on Israfel's head, similar to hers. "Come home, Apollyon. Hel misses thee. I. . .miss thee."
By hell, she meant herself.
This erotic personification of the fiery nether, this savagely hot redhead pouted her scarlet lips and blew on them. It was just an air kiss. But a fierce tornado rose at it. In a second, the helscape was gone. And they were all back in the stone chamber.