IN> "The Waters will Rise!" - Ice

[-=|horsefly|=-]

[This got long. Apologies in advance.]

Nedsrila stalked along the riverbank, a bag of frozen Mephit heads
slung over her shoulder, and a cadre of zombis lumbering behind her.
Things were going well, so far: light casualties, the things were
pitifully weak, most of them electing to flee--or try, anyway--and
she'd only lost two of her escort when they inexplicably started
pummeling each other. Still, the demon of Ice had strong misgivings
over this whole mission. The little things were slippery, costing most
of her Essence just to kill one of them. So far she'd only encountered
them singly, but it was only a matter of time before they fought back
in groups. After all, there were five heads in her bag. If someone
were coming after demons and freezing their heads for trophies, she'd
grab some bigger, stronger demons, and fight back en masse. Maybe not.
Maybe she'd stick with the zombis.

The point was, things were too easy. Even now, her reliquary was
empty, she kept seeing things on the edges of her vision in the water,
and a mile back, one of her escort had fallen into a pit. Nothing
serious, but it cost her the time and Essence to retrieve the
creature. Eventually Qerach or some other angels would show up when
she was weak from battle, just as Belial had once slain Oannes in the
first place. Suddenly the zombi closest to the waterline was yanked
soundlessly into the river. It pinwheeled for balance for a moment
before being lost underwater. Zombis couldn't swim, but they also
didn't need to breathe. Even so, whenever that happened--and it had
happened a lot (she'd started with a score of the smelly things, and
now she was down to three)--she never saw them again.

Raising an arm and hissing the remainder of her forces to stop,
Nedsrila scanned the river once more, "Where are you, you sodden
little coward?" She pursed her blue lips in exasperation. "Come join
your friends! We'll have a party together."

"The dead must rot," burbled a reply, but try as she might, she
couldn't pin down its source--well, apart from somewhere below the
rushing current. "Evil will be swept from the face of the earth,
washed away in intent or drowned unrepentant." The burbling grew
louder, seemed to echo from behind her right shoulder, and the
Punisher flung the bag to the ground while scanning the bushes and
trees along the banks for this latest Mephit.

"Bold words, little one," she hissed, her breath fogging in front of
her. "Yet I remain, and your friends have become my collection." As
she spoke, the bag unfurled and one of the frozen trophy heads rolled
out, skipping and bouncing right into the water with a 'plop!' "Damn
it!" Nedsrila cried, reaching out and calcifying the closest currents
to where the head had disappeared. "Find it," she motioned for one of
the zombis to the frozen section of river. Leaning over, she didn't
see anything. Great, more Essence expended, three zombis left, and now
one of her trophies was gone. What else--?

At the very thought, the Habbalite shielded her eyes from a huge
spray, at least double her own height, shot out of the river. As the
water surged in the air and the bodiless Mephit reformed within the
cascading sheets of blue. Her eyes transfixed on the spectacle above
her, Nedsrila paid no heed to the remaining heads rolling into the
current  Moments later, four more pillars of water shot forth, and the
Punisher shook from rage. "Damn you all!" Without enough Essence to
freeze them, she pulled an ice hatchet from her hip, tossing it with
all her might and precision into the last gout of water, hoping to at
least kill one before it was fully restored. The swirling waters stole
her weapon, though, and deflected it from her target. Shouting in
helpless frustration, she ran down the banks, her zombis abandoned.
The waters crashed down, engulfing her minions as she fled.

The river fed into a lake ahead. Several large stones jutted out at
random, but on the largest was sprawled a sopping figure, uncaringly
naked, its eyes regarding her expectantly from the distance. As it
stood upon the outcropping, the Punisher got a better look at
it--him--and stopped short of diving in to swim for his perch. "So,"
he mused, "you have come for your reward?"

Nedsrila's eyes narrowed, "What reward do you offer, pretender?"

Secrets glittered like spilled treasure on the ocean bottom from his
eyes, "Do you think I do not know you, Nedsrila? I remember you of
old, though only briefly did I ever know of you. Even now, I have
heard how you more often choose your targets from the ranks of
Infernal Fire than from this world. This lake," he gestured with an
arm, "may not bear you any special significance, but it was much
larger once. Much deeper. The last battle of Vephar was fought here,
among many other places." The Habbalite opened and shut her mouth in
shock. How? No, it didn't matter. If this were truly Oannes, she was
doomed. "You don't know much about Force-configuration, do you?"
Nedsrila bit back a retort. He was clearly leading up to something.
"Why do you think those heads were all that was left of my sibling
Mephits you slew and froze? You did freeze them solid, didn't you? Yet
their bodies dissolved anyway. Why do you think that is?"

The Demon of Ice started at him speechless. It was just as he'd
described, and she had no clue why her victims' bodies had
disappeared. She took it as good fortune for ease of carrying and kept
going. Why hadn't she thought to question it before? Why, they hadn't
struggled much, even fought back. As if they knew what she was doing,
where she was going. Her jaw worked as she struggled for some reply.
None came to mind.

"Truly," his voice burbled across the lake, and the night sky seemed
reflected in his eyes, "it can now be said that evil works for good.
Shall you share in the harvest you have wrought, or do you see to flee
from him you have restored?" Before she could answer what could only
be an ultimatum, the five restored Mephits swirled out of the lake and
laid hands on her as one. Then she was there, surrounded on the
outcropping at the center of the lake, all six of them staring at her
intently. When he spoke next, all six of them said the same words in
their own voices, but in perfectly chorused cadence, "Live in the
glory of the waves, or rot at the depths. We can destroy you with a
thought, but will not accept your surrender for that reason. Will you
swim with the tides of destiny or sink to your fate?" Hearing all of
them speak like this reminded her of facing Heaven's own bodiless, the
Kyriotates. Hadn't Oannes had been an Ofanite? She whirled on each of
them in turn, trying to identify the leader as their features seemed
to blur.

Hoping to buy time, she ventured, "Something would have to be done
with the zombis."

"Let them rot in our Waters," came the reply without hesitation, and
the voices were stronger, deeper than before. "We do not care about
the dead. They shall be food for the living. You live yet. Choose for
yourself." Their voices seemed to lap at her like waves on the shore.

No demon ever Redeems out of self-preservation. Hellborn herself,
Nedsrila held little hope of ever seeing the Light of Heaven for
herself. She did not delude herself like the rest of her Band. She
existed to punish the damned, the living, and her fellow demons. Could
she do that as an angel? Likely. Would it be enough? Probably not.
"What you're offering, the demon looked to each of them, hopelessly
trying to single out one of them, "you say it's life, but how can I
join you this way out of fear? I am overwhelmed. Outnumbered. Out of
Essence. What you demand is a choice between two outcomes I have no
choice of attaining: victory in battle or surviving a Redemption
attempt."

The six around her backed up a pace, then a second, but slowly began
to circle her in rhythm with the crescent moon above. The six
creatures around her--she'd given up on the former appelation, as they
clearly seemed more than what they had been, to the point that it no
longer seemed appropriate. Did they mean to let her go, or hunt her
down? Each looked like a fully developed human adult, but she noticed
the membrane that stretched between their fingers. All had the
physique of powerful swimmers, and that webbing would be an ever
greater edge. Looking up at the moon in despair, Nedsrila spied two
more reasons to fear: a pair of angels, their wings snapping open and
shut in the calm air. One figure appeared Middle Eastern and stern.
Lucifer below, was that Khalid?! The other she recognized from their
last conversation a month ago, and the fact that her wings bore a
crisp sheen surprised her not at all, just another aspect of their
shared Word. She seemed more beautiful this night than she'd ever seen
before, her Qerach. Between them they bore a third figure, slender,
dripping, and feminine. Another Mephit? Oh Hell!

The two angels lit upon the outcropping outside the circle of
what-had-been-Mephits; their passenger looked at the six once-Mephits
and took her place among them, joining hands. In short order, she
looked much as they did: taller, stronger, with the same webbing
between her fingers, yet an aura remained about her the rest lacked.
"Will you speak for this one?" the seven chorused. The voices were
really quite eerie, taking aspects of turbulent depths, rushing
streams, swamp sludge, sparkling snowflakes at the beginning of
winter, refreshing rain, the quiet hope of a well in desolate wastes,
and a placid lake just right for rowing. The man stepped forward,
bowing to the six figures surrounding Nedsrila. He wore a scimitar at
his waist and dressed in dark robes. His wings were a golden luster
even in the moonlight, before they faded away a moment later. "Milord,
are you truly...?" Not Khalid, then. Thank whoever was looking out for
her!

"We are not as we once were, no. We are not yet what we have been.
This one," all seven pointed at her, "has helped restore us, though
she did it unknowingly and with malicious intent. Yet more evidence
that evil can do good when it does not try to stop itself--or when it
does not know what it is doing. For that she is still alive. Do you
speak for her, or come to say farewell?" The last question was clearly
aimed at Qerach, and the Elohite bore it stoically.

"I come as I am bid, milord; it is good to see you retaking your
former glory," she bowed slowly, hoarfrost in her dark tresses. She
glanced at Nedsrila, "If she has had a part in that," we should bring
her to the nearest Tether. I'm sure the Idiot Prince would not be
pleased by news of her failure."

The words cut into her in more ways than one, chilling her as no
other's could. She was Ice, but so was Qerach, and Ice together cooled
all things. Right now, that was here fear, at the expense of her
pride. "I'll be no one's prisoner," the Habbalite stood taller,
resigning herself to her last moments. The Elohite across from her
arched one brow, as if to say, "Are you really that stupid?" but
Nedsrila continued, "I've been offered a reward. I will go to your
Tether, but only to acquire that which has been offered."

Qerach smirked at her companion, who looked in turn at the septet
surrounding the demon. "Milord, you offered her a boon?"

"If she is wise enough to take it," the seven answered. "We are strong
enough to leave this place for a time. Thank you for ferrying us, our
loyal once-Servitors."

The two angels looked at each other, then answered at the same time,
"It was the least we could do, Milord."

"Alright, cut it out already!" Nedsrila shouted. These seven are
creeping me out enough as it is, but you two sounding like Balprop
aren't helping me choose Heaven! What's with the speaking-in-one-voice
schtick, anyway? Can you do it on command, or are you doing it just to
get a rise out of me?" Lashing out with the last of her reserves, she
resonated the newcomers, heedless that such would be seen as an
attack, despite the fact that she was already hopelessly outnumbered.
If she could get them to attack her, she'd have at least prompted
these sanctimonious bastards into striking a helpless target. She'd be
damned if she'd go down without at least taking someone with her, too.

Qerach rushed her then, but before she could attack in kind, she was
wrapped in a tight embrace and kissed more soundly than their last
parting. "Don't be an idiot, Ned." The Habbalite sputtered. The
Elohite was the only being she allowed call her that without reprisal,
and now there were witnesses. "Stop digging yourself in deeper and
come with us!"

Nedsrila sighed as she looked into Qerach's eyes, "Fine. Where am I going?"

"We," the latest former-Mephit spoke alone, "can answer that." She
walked counter-clockwise to her sibling self, then walked through it
as the latter was absorbed into her, continuing through the circle
surrounding Nedsrila until only she remained. "Nathaniel, we believe
you know the way." By his nod and gesture, a portal opened, and the
four Celestials stepped through.

It was still dark, but now they stood by a well in a desert village.
"Big Tether," muttered Nedsrila before Qerach hushed her. The Middle
Easterner shot her a scathing look, then a deferential one to Oannes
reborn.

"This is where we were called back. This is where we begin again,"
Oannes declared.

The two angels with her knelt at her side, chanting, "The Waters will Rise!"
-- 
-=|horsefly|=-

"It was a different time: a time of blood and guns and killings.... It
was a time when killers needed saints, for so much of God's
good work was being done."
        --SAINT OF KILLERS #4, Garth Ennis