>>41685435

Nobody gets hurt – a real joke, that one, courtesy of Sister Cassandra – well, you were never going to stick to that. That's why, when the shit really hit the fan and Harry put a bullet in Amelia's chest, you went straight to plan B.

Plan B, in this case, was a length of lead pipe with black friction tape wrapped around one end as a handle. Pulling the makeshift club out from under your coat – walking with that thing hidden from view had been a real pain in the arse – you put a hand on the walkway balcony and jump down, your heavy boots crashing down through the table in front of Harry's stupid, blubbery face. The look of abject horror painted across his features... delicious.

The world around you seems to have slowed to a crawl, bodyguards fumbling for their weapons as they scramble to find the source of the chaos. Sloppy, just as you expected from second-rate thugs like these. What first?

>Grab Amelia and drag her arse out of here
>Wipe that stupid look off Harry's face
>No survivors

>>41685443
>Wipe that stupid look off Harry's face

>That character sheet

K E K

>>41685443
>Wipe that stupid look off Harry's face

>>41685443
>Wipe that stupid look off Harry's face

>>41685776
>>41685887
>>41686157

How you wish you had the time to savour this moment, to really enjoy it, but you're all too aware that it won't be long before Harry's bodyguards are able to scrape together enough wit to make a move. Tightening your grip on the bludgeon, you pull your arm back and swing the metal pipe into the side of Harry's face, all before he has a chance to realise full well what's happening. The blow connects with a sickening – yet undeniably satisfying – crack of bone as something, some part of the criminal's skull, shatters.

In that instant, you're reminded of the very first time you hit someone, REALLY hit them. You had used a baseball bat that time, but otherwise it had felt very similar. Even the place where the blow had landed was pretty similar, just a few inches above the left ear. This is hardly the time for nostalgia, though, even if the sight of their boss' brains leaking out a crack in his head has given the bodyguards a moment of pause. No doubt the lot of them were thinking frantically about their options – who's going to pay us? Who's the boss now? Before long, at least one of them will try and take command, probably by putting a bullet in your back. You've got to get out of here before that happens.

>Back exit
>Front door

>>41686212
>Back exit

>>41686212
>>Back exit

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>>41686291
>>41686295

Might as well try and get out the same way you came in. There had been a single guard on the back door when you had made your way into the club and, well, he probably hasn't woken up yet. When – if – he does, he's going to have one hell of a headache. Even so, you still need to get to the bloody door and the tightening circle of thugs around you is not going to make it easy. Luckily for you, you came prepared.

It had been Amelia's idea to use these... things as a weapon of last resort, and it's looking like the girl had the right idea. You're not one to trust technology over a good old-fashioned bit of muscle, but needs must. Fishing your phone out of a deep pocket, you press your thumb to the snarling dog emblazoned across the screen. Here goes nothing...

Barghest – the name springs unbidden into your mind – the hellhound of the lonely moors. Black of fur and marked with a pair of burning red eyes, the murderous hound materialises before you and immediately launches into a frenzy of barks and howls. The bodyguards around you shrink back, cowed not only by the ferocity of the creature you just summoned, but assailed by some supernatural terror. You feel a faint echo of that same dread stirring the surface of your mind, triggering some deep instinctual urge to flee.

>>41686557

That's one instinct you're all too willing to obey. With Barghest biting and tearing through the bodyguards in front of you, you barge out through the curtain and into the nightmarish churn of the crowd outside. With your first step outside panic erupts and fresh screams, shrill with unnatural fear, pierce your ears. The copper tang of blood rises high in your nose as Barghest gets to work on the bodyguards while you push your way through the crowd, lashing out with your club at anyone too slow or too stupid to get out of your way. More than once, you trample on some fallen fool but it'll take more than that to slow you down.

Gunshots ring out, shockingly loud in the hellish box of the club, from a some direction that you can barely pinpoint. They're coming from behind you somewhere, but it would take a perfect marksman and an incredible stroke of fortune for one of the bullets to find its way to your back. Chances are, it would hit some bystander instead of you – what a shame, you say to yourself with a ragged chuckle. You don't notice Cassandra as you're leaving, but just before you slip out the front door, you hear a thin, girlish shriek.

>Go back for her
>Leave her behind

>>41686673
>>Go back for her
Goddamn nun.

>>41686673
>Go back for her
She genuinely tried to help us without being a dick

>>41686673
>>Go back for her
I'll be honest I don't think Leon cares, but maybe he thinks he owes them one for getting him here.

>>41686829
Or more specifically Cass for helping him when this thing all started. Not everybody would help some dude with a bloody face walk and help him get to safety.

>>41686690
>>41686727
>>41686829

You're a few metres away from freedom. Just a few short metres – you can see the front door, it's right there! - and yet something stops you. Maybe it's the memory of how Cassandra helped you, cleaned and bandaged your wound, with no expectation of anything in return. How naïve can you get? It's almost amusing but, well, it made you stop for a moment, didn't it? The moment you stopped, you realised that you were going to go back for her.

Besides, once you get past the freaky church stuff, she's actually kinda cute. Not the kind of girl you'd throw out of bed, your father would say. So, shouldering your makeshift club, you wade back into the club, keeping an eye open for her shock of blonde hair. Now you have a chance to look back across the club, you're struck at the violence that your little escape attempt left behind. Bodies are scattered across the ground, some with limbs savagely ripped off or bellies torn open.

Suddenly, you're a lot more impressed with this devil summoning trick. If this is what you can do with one pissed off dog... Then you remember Cassandra's whining demands from earlier - “nobody gets hurt” - and laugh again. She'll probably take one look at this little scene and faint dead away.

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>>41687052

Character sheet: http://pastebin.com/GkV7x9Z9

You had a bad feeling about this whole plan from the start.

Your name is Cassandra Einhart, and you get bad feelings about a lot of things. This particular bad feeling comes from a deeper place than your permanently unsettled nerves, though. In theory, everything should have been fine, everything should have been okay. You were going to rescue dozens of people from a fate worse than death, a fate made worse by the fact that not even you could guess what awaited them when they were bartered over to the servants of the devil. Rescuing them was the right thing to do, surely?

Yet, when you had been praying earlier, pleading with God and all of his angels to offer you advice, you had heard a faint voice rising up from the depths of your mind. A quiet voice, but one that spoken with the honesty you had come to expect from divine inspiration. The message that that voice had granted you, however, had not been the one you had been expecting. “Let the unbelievers perish”, it had proclaimed.

And yet, here you are anyway. You had taken the advice of a friend over the word of God and done what you had once been so sure was the right thing to do. Only now, it seemed that God's will was unfolding before your eyes. In such a busy club – a wicked, sinful place to be sure! - it was difficult to peer around the masses of people, but the sudden gunshot that had rung out from within the VIP lounge told you all you needed to know.

>>41687216

It also triggered a panic, turning the ambling crowds into a panicked mass that threatened a stampede with each passing moment. Indecision gnawed at you as you glanced between the curtain to the VIP lounge and the path back to the front door. You're not a born leader, more of a follower really, and you find yourself desperate for someone else to take charge.

>Try and get to Amelia. She might need your help
>Get out of there. God will protect his own.
>Try to find Leon. He was supposed to be here.

>>41687320
>>Try and get to Amelia. She might need your help

>>41687320
>Try and get to Amelia. She might need your help
certainly hope angels can heal gunshot wounds

>>41687320
>Try and get to Amelia. She might need your help
She is not going to be in a good mood once she finds her.

>>41687359
Archangel can't, but maybe Undine can.

>>41687339
>>41687359
>>41687373

That's right. That's right! Amelia might not be perfect – she's rough around the edges, a little too quick with her sarcastic comments and worryingly irrelevant when it comes to God's Laws – but you refuse to leave her behind in this den of sin. She might be hurt, or in some kind of trouble – actually, you're pretty sure she's in trouble, that's just the kind of girl she is.

A new rush of screams, mixed with the most hellish barking you've ever heard, rises up to batter your ears. Clamping your hands to your ears, you fight the urge to drop to your knees – not in prayer, although you could certainly do with some divine assistance right about now – but out of sheer panic. Crowds and panic have never been your natural environment, and this is a crowning example of both.

But no, you force yourself to move forwards, no matter how much you want to turn and flee from the club. Even so, with all your desperate attempts to push through the tight press of bodies, moving forwards is an arduous task. As you're struggling against the current – most of the panicked prisoners fixated on moving in a single direction now – something clips your arm, sending a numbing jolt of pain through the limb. The blow – you never saw the source – sends you stumbling to the ground.

>>41687488

As your eyes finally adjust to the darkness in the club, you see the glistening pools of blood scattered about the floor and force down a sudden rush of nausea. Nobody was supposed to get hurt – you all agreed – nobody was supposed to get hurt! Logically, you knew that you should have expected this, the plan had already gone terribly wrong after all, but whatever small voice whispers sense into your mind is drowned out by a overwhelming shriek that you feel coming from your throat. A few metres away, the source of the spilled blood drying on your hands, a man lies with staring eyes, his skull caved in like a broken egg.

Sour vomit boils up in your throat, stirred up by the sheer brutality of the deed. All of a sudden the stench of blood and spent gunpowder seems inescapable, pressing in around you like a cloying blanket. No – you clench your eyes shut and take a deep breath through your mouth – you can't let this stop you. You can't give up now! Somehow, with a strength you didn't know you had, you feel yourself rise from the ground and lurch blindly onwards once more.

The VIP lounge, dimly visible through your blurred vision as a well-lit highlight, looms large before you. So fixated on this sight, you stumble right into the firm bulwark of a bodyguard. Staggering backwards, lips starting to form an absurd apology, the words die as you see the gun pointed at your face.

>Summon Archangel
>Please no...
>Run for your life.

>>41687629
>Summon Archangel

>>41687629
>>Summon Archangel
Shits getting crazy.

And I love it.

>>41687629
>Summon Archangel

Call it a hunch, but I think we are about to experience and extreme loss of innocence from Cass and to some extent (when she wakes up) Amelia.

>>41687641
>>41687648
>>41687661

Sister Joan had always been good to you. She had been the one to teach you your first prayers, and she had always been there with a reassuring word whenever your faith wavered. You had no idea why the older woman had taken such an interest in you – seeing something of herself in you, perhaps? - but you'll be forever thankful that she did. It wasn't long ago, now, that she took your smartphone from you and played with it for a moment, manipulating the device with a dexterity you had never expected.

A weapon, she had told you when you asked what she was doing, she was giving you a weapon. As she said that, her eyes had been somehow sad, as though she was knowingly committing some great sin. Perhaps she was – taking the first step down a long and bloody road by putting a weapon in the hands of a child. Yet, whatever horrors might still lie ahead of you, you cannot bring yourself to blame the kindly woman. You cannot blame her, for without that weapon she had graced you with, this would have been the moment you died for sure.

Pressing a slender finger against the screen of your smartphone, trusting in God's will to guide your finger, you feel a sudden warmth and serenity surrounding you. The club, previously a dark and claustrophobic place, feels as light and calming as a summer's day. Not just a feeling, you realise, as a pillar of light surrounds you. Slowly, moving with a majestic grace and accompanied by a choir of heavenly voices, Archangel descends.

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>>41687843

A perfect human figure, clad in antique armour and clutching a sword, Archangel hovers behind you. The bodyguard, his finger already tightening on the trigger of his automatic pistol, jerks the gun up to point it at your divine servant. No! Your eyes widen in shock as you try to shout out a warning, but too late. The man fires three shots, deafeningly loud, at the glorious figure – yet every single shot sparks off the heaven forged metal and ricochets off into the air. Then, with a contemptuous grace, Archangel draws his sword.

“All men must fear God,” the angel rumbles, in a voice like ancient stone slabs grinding together, “And in their fear, find obedience.” Then, moving with a blinding speed that cuts off any plea for mercy – a plea that was on YOUR lips, not those of the hapless thug before you – he slices through the bodyguard's arm. Hot blood sprays across your face and down your chest, painting a reeking line across the prim blazer you were wearing before - with an effortless backstroke – Archangel bisects the man entirely.

“Warrior of God,” the words grind out from behind Archangel's armoured visage as he turns to kneel before you, “Thy life is mine to defend.”

You... you didn't want any of this, you stammer, feeling a weakness creeping through your body, a weakness that turns into chilling fear as you see more of Harry Right-Hand's hired thugs approaching from behind Archangel. Stay away, you scream desperately. Stay away from me!

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>>41687972
>>41687843

>mfw

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>>41687972
>Archangels face when slaying heathens

(Perspective returning to Leon)

“Stay away!” You hear the shrill scream as you hurry through the club, thankful that most of the prisoners have finally found their way out or died. As you're stepping over a neatly severed arm – the hand still clenched tightly around a handgun – you hear another scream: “Stay away from me!”

The source of those shrieks was Cassandra, her knees buckling beneath her as a glowing golden figure busies itself with dismantling the last of Harry's goons. Lashing out with a shining sword, the blood simply boiling away whenever it touches metal to that the heavenly weapon remains forever pristine, the angel strikes limbs from bodies and heads from shoulders. It fights with an efficiency that puts Barghest to shame, and seems to strike the same fear into those around it.

At least, it certainly strikes a wordless terror into your heart in a way that Barghest – that nothing else you've ever seen – can match. If the hellhound attacks the mind with a primitive fear, then this angel sends a fearful dagger straight into your soul. It's the fear of being judged and found unworthy, the fear of being condemned and sent straight to some burning pit at the end of that luminous sword. It's... well, it's the fear of God. There's no sense in lying to yourself about that.

When the last of the bodyguards are dead, scattered across the club floor in several chunks, you start to approach Cassandra. That's when God's pet psychopath turns to look you right in the eye – you KNOW that it's looking you in the eye, right through the visor of its helmet – and lifts its sword.

>Hey, you've got this all wrong!
>Stay silent and hold your nerve
>Run like hell

>>41688323
>>Run like hell
Nuh uh. Going back was my good deed for the day.

>>41688323
>Hey, you've got this all wrong!
I may be a piece of shit, but I ain't gonna hurt her

>>41688357
>20XX
>Trusting an angel to listen to reason

>>41688408
Tie break for us mang.

>>41688323
>>Run like hell

>>41688323
>Hey, you've got this all wrong!

>>41688347
>>41688460

You could have just waltzed right the fuck out of the front door and left that crazy nun here, but no. No, you had to play the hero and come back to make sure she wasn't being beaten to death by a gang of steroid abusing hooligans. Now you've got Saint Murderfuck over here staring you down like he's measuring you up for a coffin, and you're expecting to, what? Win him over with your charm? Drop to your knees and convert right there on the stop? Aye, naw – as they used to say back home.

So you run. You just turn on the spot, dropping the blood and brain encrusted pipe to the ground as you do so, and run. You flee like the devil himself is on your heels – ironic really, considering – until the club's front door comes into view. You hit the door at speed, barging right through it and emerging into an empty street that you never quite expected to see again. A moment later, you remember Barghest and pull out your phone. You summoned it with a touch, right? So banishing it should be as easy! You shrug and prod the hellhound's icon. If you're wrong, the damn thing is gonna come barrelling through the door after you any minute either way.

Outside air never quite tasted so sweet. You drink it down like a man savouring a fine meal and think about what just happened in there. Sure, things got a little hairy towards the end, but you got what you came for. Harry Right-Hand is lying on the floor of his own club with a shattered skull, and you survived with little more than a mild case of mortal terror. You'll take that trade any day of the week. Shame about Amelia though, you think to yourself with a little shrug, oh well.

Cassandra, though... She, or rather her heavenly bodyguard, could be a problem in future. Something you're going to have to avoid in future, or take steps to “deal” with.

>>41688684

Choose your character:

>Cassandra
>Leon
>Amelia

>Taking a pause here for an hour or so. I'll pick up here when I get back

>>41688744
>>Amelia

>>41688744
>Amelia
So wake Ms. Amelia, wake up and smell the ashes.

>>41688744
>Amelia
I'm curious what happened to Bullet-holes McGee here

>>41688779
When it happened I half expected Lucy to walk up and go 'Hey kid, want a magatama?', but Moloch said that ain't happening.

>>41688744
>Amelia

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You wake slowly, by degrees. The first thing that returns to you is you hearing, although there is little to hear other than a steady dripping somewhere off in the distance. Then you feel cold, a cold moisture clinging to your back as though you'd been lying outside all night. Finally, the rest of your senses wake up to reveal a dimly lit cavern roof – a literal cavern, with craggy grey stone and everything – and the faintest smell of decay.

As your memory returns you touch your chest tentatively, expecting to find a raw sinkhole of pulverised flesh and blood. Yet... there is nothing there. No wound, and definitely no pain. In fact, your body feels surprisingly light as you lift yourself to your feet and look around.

Okay, so what's the catch? You're glad to be alive, but you can't shake the feeling that this might be the start of something much worse than a quick death.

“Amelia Bishop. Born in the year 2003,” a creaking voice recites, before taking a dramatic pause, “Died in the year 2020... Perhaps.” Finally, you find the source of the voice – an elderly man slumped across a desk of withered wood. His face is gaunt, bearded, but his hands are pure bone. Those skeletal digits seem to hypnotise you as they reach out, sliding a bead from one side of an abacus to the other. Wait, did he just say...

>>41689568

“I am Ankou, the guardian of the dead,” the old man's voice rattles out from within his hollow chest, “Welcome, child, to the afterlife.”

>So... I died then?
>What do you want with me?
>You said “perhaps”. What did you mean?

>>41689588
"Nice to meet you."
>You said “perhaps”. What did you mean?

>>41689588
>>You said “perhaps”. What did you mean?

>>41689568
>>41689605
i like the idea of politely greeting this guy

>>41689588
Greet the nice man politely first
>You said “perhaps”. What did you mean?

The dude has probably been busy as hell these past two days.

>>41689716

He's been working his fingers to the bone

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>>41689739
Ha

So who is down to loot a police station for a bulletproof vest and other things after this?

>>41689588
>>You said “perhaps”. What did you mean?

>>41690015
>>41689690
>>41689650
>>41689605
>>41689637

He said “guardian of the dead”. He definitely said that, and you know what that means. That means “mind your goddamn manners”. So, you nod your head respectfully and offer him your most formal greeting, even though you're desperate to get onto the meat of the discussion. Some hysterical little voice in the back of your head is still trying to convince you that you misheard. I mean... you can't be dead. You just can't!

Taking a breath to compose yourself, you press on. Ankou said “perhaps”, implying that you might not be dead after all. Please, you remind yourself to keep polite as you make your request, tell me more.

“Another has offered their life in your place,” Ankou explains, “One who shares a bond of blood with you. You shall live, but their life will be mine to take – when I choose to claim it.”

Someone offered to trade their life with yours? A member of your family? You pause again, trying to process that new knowledge. Was your mother alive, somehow? Or perhaps, long ago, she made the trade and her death was simply the price she had agreed to pay. Unless... Carnby? What's more, can you really accept such a gift?

>I cannot. I refuse the deal
>I accept the deal
>Who offers their life?
>Other

>>41690027
>>Who offers their life?

>>41690027
>>Who offers their life?

>>41690027
>Who offers their life?

>>41690057
>>41690162
>>41690174

Deal with the ethics of the situation later, once you know who is offering to die in your place. That's what you tell yourself, as you put the question to Ankou. He takes a long time to answer – it seems to you like everything here in the afterlife takes a very long time – and when he does, the answer is less than satisfying.

“Would it change your mind, if you knew?” he asks carefully. As you watch him slide another bead along the abacus, it occurs to you that nothing you can do or say would matter much to him. Death cannot be threatened or pleaded with - even if it can, apparently, be bargained with. So... it MIGHT change my mind, you answer lamely.

“I do not know,” Ankou tells you eventually, his answer coming as a devastating anticlimax, “They belong to the living, for now, and their name is hidden from me. Observe,” the guardian spirit points at his abacus, “Each bead represents a life, yet I cannot know anything about them. Death is impersonal – neutral. There can be no playing favourites.”

But there can be bartering? You blurt out the question before better sense can stop you. A long, slow laugh rattles out from somewhere deep within Ankou.

“Not normally, no, otherwise there would be no end to the negotiations. But, in the world of the living, things are not as they once were,” he looks up from his dreary task of counting souls and stares hard at you, “As I'm sure you understand.”

>I... see. I don't like it, but I accept the deal
>Then I cannot accept this deal

>>41690471
>>I... see. I don't like it, but I accept the deal
Shits heavy.

>>41690471
>I... see. I don't like it, but I accept the deal

>>41690471
>I... see. I don't like it, but I accept the deal
We get to live. I dont care who dies instead.

>>41690640
Eh she wouldn't have asked who if she didn't care.

>>41690674
I think he just means he as a player doesnt care.

>>41690484
>>41690549
>>41690640

You're not happy about this, but you're even less happy with the idea of dying. So, with a solemn nod, you tell Ankou your decision. You accept this deal, you tell him - you want to live. The withered old man returns your grave nod and reaches down to his abacus, slowly – with the reverent care of a priest performing the most holy of rites – moving one of the beads backwards, against the flow of souls leaving the land of the living.

With a gentle lack of haste matching his motions, a light begins to blossom at one end of the cavern. So that's it? Just go into the light? That's so cliché that it almost breaks the tension of the moment, but at the very least you're able to keep a straight face. As you start to walk towards the light, Ankou stops you.

“One last piece of advice, traveller,” he rasps, “The world you shall return to is not the one you left. You will return to a world where faith and fury are pitched against each other, but...” he holds up a skeletal finger for a second before bringing it back down to the abacus, “Neither can avoid death forever. Avoid extremes, child, and remember what awaits you in the afterlife.”
You'll, uh, you'll keep that in mind, you tell the spirit, who does not offer a reply in turn. Instead, he bows low over his abacus and starts to move bead after bead. Something big just happened sunny side up, you think to yourself, something that just left a pretty big bodycount. Yet, you're the only one who gets to come back – it's unfair, somehow.

You're just about to leave the cavern when you see something you didn't expect to. A door, richly carved from healthy looking wood, planted in the side of the cave wall. The doorknob is well-polished brass, and seems to draw your hand to it. Curious...

>Take a look inside
>Ignore it

>>41690884
>>Take a look inside
I'll bite

>>41690884
>Ignore it
Go back to life. We can maybe check it out when we next die.

>>41690972
Don't think we are getting another second chance like this again.

>>41690884
>Take a look inside

>>41690884
>>Take a look inside

>>41690884
>Take a look inside

Wait, can we die again? We're not in the world of the living yet

>>41690953
>>41691044
>>41691158
>>41691163

Hell, you've never been one to resist your curiosity, even if it gets you in trouble. You glance back to Ankou as you grip the strangely warm doorknob, but the guardian spirit seems unaware of anything you're doing. Is this not his doing, then? Well, even if the thought gives you the start of an uneasy tingle down your spine, it's too late to turn back now. The door is open and you're stepping through it – almost as if something was drawing you in – before you can think of closing it again. It's dark inside the small room you find yourself in, and the walls are close.

It's... a confessional booth. A familiar sight, even if it has been quite some time since you've been in one. Yet, the familiarity of it is so comforting that you automatically bow your head and start to recite the old words. Forgive me father, for I have sinned. You say them out of habit, and a longing desire for the world you once knew. A way of preserving some small fragment of your old life, in the face of a new world with new rules. You certainly weren't expecting a response.

“Oh, I'm sure you have,” the voice is amused, sarcastic, and yet there is an unmissable note of weariness in it, “Everyone does, you know. Sin is the act of obeying your human instincts over the word of God. Does it not follow, then, that sin is the nature of humanity?”

Now how are you supposed to answer THAT?

>Humans can transcend sin in order to obey God's Law
>Sin is a part of humanity, but not the whole of it
>Men should embrace sin as their birthright

>>41691394
>Sin is a part of humanity, but not the whole of it
People do bad things, people hurt each other. But its not who we are. You can choose not to.

>>41691394
"Thats a loaded question for a 17 year old girl not even out of highschool you know."
>>Sin is a part of humanity, but not the whole of it

>>41691394
>Sin is a part of humanity, but not the whole of it
Instinct is a part of Man, one that we can choose to obey or resist, just like the word of God. To be controlled only by instinct is to stop being human altogether.

>>41691394
>>Sin is a part of humanity, but not the whole of it

>>41691468
>>41691473
>>41691478
>>41691540

“A cautious answer, but a good one,” the priest laughs, “You keep your cards close to your chest, don't you? Or perhaps you're afraid of stepping too deep into waters, when you've only just learned how to swim. Either way...”

Alignment shifts towards Neutral

“Very well, you've answered my question, so I should answer some of yours. You have many, I'm sure,” the priest falls silent for a moment, before adding: “Of course, I cannot guarantee that my answers will satisfy you. They might not even be the truth – allow an old man his moment of sin, won't you?”

But what do you ask him? (Pick as many as desired)

>Who are you?
>What awaits me in the land of the living?
>What's going to happen to the world?
>Other

>>41691616
>Who are you?
>What's going to happen to the world?
>Other
"Is there any way this can be stopped or reversed?"

We can hazard a guess at the 2nd one.

>>41691616
>What's going to happen to the world?

>>41691616
>Who are you?
>What is the nature of Devil Summoning?
>What's going to happen to the world?
>Where is my mother?
>What is Carnby doing?

“Me?” you can hear the smirk in his voice – very much of an inappropriate tone for a priest – as he answers, “I'm just an old priest who offers advice to weary travellers. Do you need advice? Then seek out a church under the light of a full moon. I shall be there.”

Uh, right. You didn't actually ask for advice, but... You clear your throat and move on. What, exactly, is going to happen to the world? You heard the short version from Carnby, about the world falling into the control of demons and angels, but you have your doubts.

“The teacher has the truth of it, even if his information is woefully out of date. He speaks of a prophecy, but these events are not fixed. Yes, devils and angels both will seek to control the world, but they cannot do it alone,” there is a thin rattle as the priest taps on the barrier between you, “Humans like you will hold the balance of power.”

There is another pause as he considers your questions. “Demon summoning is, ultimately, the manipulation of information. Those demons you command, they're stored as raw data until they are unleashed upon the world.” He laughs again, a dry edge to it, “of course, the science behind it is beyond an old man like me.”

“My my, your mother? Is this the concern of a loyal child that drives you to ask, or the anxiety of a scared one?” For a moment, you begin to think that he's about to dodge the question – he did warn you about unsatisfying answers, after all – but then he continues. “Your mother still walks the earth.”

Vague. Nice.

>>41691971

“The teacher, Carnby? Right now, he's playing with his little toys. He was always one to favour his gadgets over the people in his life. But fear not, he's close by and keeping a very close eye on you,” you hear a faint ticking as the priest consults a pocket watch, “Oh, my. It seems my time here grows short. I have a great many other travellers to attend to, you see. When you leave this room...”

Yes? When you leave this room...?

“You will wake up in the land of the living,” the priest answers simply, before the slam of his door announces his departure. That, it seems, is that.

>>41691989

That's it for today's thread, thanks to everyone who contributed. I'll be lurking for a while if there's any questions or feedback.

>>41692040
thanks for running

>>41692040
Thanks for the run.

Any idea when you'll run next since Thursday was out? I'm looking forward to Amelia's revival.

>>41692062

I'm thinking Friday at this point.