The Alembic (SinfullyDelicious & Echoplex)

[SinfullyDelicious]

Benjamin Wells was spending his Friday afternoon like any other PhD grad student would. He was downtown in an old antique store, browsing for anything that might have to do with the ancient Occult. Ever since he was a child, Ben had been fascinated with stories of demons and hell. Every culture had their own unique take on it, but Ben thought he saw patterns that most people overlooked. Sure most of the legends had to be false, but there were so many similarities that Ben thought that some of it had to be real. So he studied hard, graduating top of his class in high school, going to a prestigious university, and staying in that university all the way through grad school. Along the way he learned a few ancient languages, and he had spent the past three years discovering the remnants of an ancient script that he believed was used by one of the first demonic worshiping cults that ever existed.

That is why he was here in this old antique shop, with a notepad full of ancient symbols that he kept referring back to whenever he saw something that looked promising. Last week his professor had seen Ben's notebook and said he recognized one of the symbols from an item in an antique shop in town. So Ben had spent the rest of the week going to every singly antique shop, and it turned out that there were a lot of them. Yet as he reached the back of the shop, Ben knew that this had to be the right place. This shop had some of the oldest goods, and in the corner at the back of the room, at the very bottom shelf, Ben found it. What he found was a perfect square box. It carvings and lines running all over the box, and as Ben picked it up he could feel the pieces of the box move...it was a puzzle box. Ben brought the box to his face, and there in the top right square of the box was the symbol for demon. It was a simple symbol, an old carving of fire with what looked like an early form of an Egyptian hieroglyph inside of the fire. This had to be it.

Ben contained his excitement, straightening up and walking over to the counter to ask the old woman behind it how much this box would cost him. The woman stared at it for the longest time, admitting that she barely remembered obtaining it in the first place. So Ben offered her $100, a price she said was more than reasonable as she snatched the cash before he could change his mind. The two beamed at each other, clearly thinking they had gotten the better deal. Now with the cube safely in his hand he gave the sides of the cube a little spin before stuffing the cube into his jacket pocket.

He had not dressed himself this morning thinking he was going to the bar, but that is where he found himself going right now. He was wearing his favorite clothes. A pair of old jeans and a soft white t-shirt with a black Stark Direwolf on it. Over that he had on his leather jacket that now held his cube safely in his right pocket. With his right hand in his pocket he found himself continuing to spin and try and work the cube as he walked. His left hand held onto his cellphone as he text a few classmates to invite them out to drink with him. He let his classmates know that he had made a big discovery, and that the first round was on him.

Only three of them showed up, so when he held up the puzzle box for the small crowd to see, they were unimpressed. He sighed, his classmates all were interested in ancient history, but none of them believed in the occult like he did. That didn't matter, the group still was here to celebrate with him, and they spent the next few hours talking about their research and spent turns bragging about how close they were to publishing their thesis. While his colleagues focused on their drinks Ben kept spinning the sides of his puzzle box, trying to find a way to open it up and see what was inside. After playing with it for an hour, and after more than a few beers, his focus was a bit lacking. So he didn't see the symbol that he had first noticed light up after he flicked a part of the puzzle into a new place. He never noticed that he sent out a signal straight to hell that warned all of the demons that someone was finally using the Alembic again.

By the time they left the bar Ben's colleagues were completely wasted. Ben wasn't much better, but he thought of himself as tipsy and not drunk. The group stumbled out of the bar and down the street, losing a member every block or so until it was just Ben wandering down the streets of the city alone. When he looked up to see which street he was on he noticed something odd staring at him from across the street. At first he thought it was a dog, but that didn't make sense, because the thing was much bigger than a dog. It then stepped forward, and Ben had to take a step back. The thing was pitch black with flaming red eyes, it had the body the size of a grizzly bear with fangs like a Sabertooth. It opened its mouth to growl at him and Ben swore that he saw flames in its throat.

Just because Ben was a nerd didn't mean he didn't know how to fight. He had taken martial arts ever since he entered high school. Ben tended to wear baggy clothes, and that was why no one would ever think that the man was actually quite fit under neath his jacket. He had a lithe strong body, but none of his training mattered now. All that mattered was how fast he could run, and he quickly bolted down the street away from the beast. The beast let out a huge roar and chased after him, gaining on him in seconds. Ben could feel the heat of its breath as it got closer, inch by inch, and Ben had to wonder if this was really going to be how it all ended.

 

[Echoplex]

In thousands of years, Ammon's disciples have known her only as stoic and calculated; a philosopher, not unlike her mentor. Her fortitude was so revered that she was offered a seat on the Council of Nine, often witnessing trials conducted by King Minos as new damned souls were ushered into the gates of hell. Minos, over time, came to favor her, much to the chagrin of others. Eventually, she used her knowledge attained from Minos' trials - and the damned being tried - to usurp the throne of the sixth circle belonging to Epicurus. He did not eshew it willingly, having been its overseer since the virtual nascence of philosophy itself, but in the same breath, he was exhausted and sought a restful eternity, absent of the screams of the heretics castigated to his tribunal. Unfortunately, the election of a new eminence was never a peaceful event, despite Epicurus wanting to relinquish his crown. Many of Epicurus' faithful fled the City of Dis, driven into political upheavel by their new herald. Instead of punishing them like all heretics in hell - by being encased, internally, in a tomb of fire - Ammon let them flee. Her reasons were never made clear, but those who venerated her didn't concern themselves any further.

That was, until, one of those she spared made off with an instrument of war she had stowed away. Should the council glean that she possessed such an artifact let alone had it stolen, she knew she would have to face one of her higher-ups; a figure of immense power, one that could inflict on her thousands of eternities of suffering. Epicurus, witnessing her grief, elected to watch her throne despite his time having passed. He knew that Ammon was scheming to give herself, and others, a release of their hellish bonds, thus appointed himself her minister. Epicurus would have dispatched himself, but he was too old and too wizened to transition between planes without his soul experiencing unimaginable anguish, more than he was, embarassingly, willing to experience. So, Ammon took it upon herself to stow away to reality.

And it was the ascent that she dreaded.

Incubating a human body was something not even science could yet quantify, if ever. She bred her body from her own demon blood, belched out from a mire some miles from civilization. A couple discovered her, nude and caked in half-dry mud, on their return from a camping trip. After carting her back to a police station where she was ruthlessly interrogated, but escaped when two deputies were arguing over how to handle her 'case'.

Meanwhile, Ammon's brain began developing. There were so many thousands if not millions of memories. Her synapses tried desperately to make sense of everything, like a disgruntled office employee attempting to file their paperwork in chronological order, lest their superior chastise them. Words were garbled and incomprehensible. She sat on the corner of the street, aside a copse of homeless folk, sporting an oversized sweater pilfered from someone's trash and a sweat-stiff set of denim jeans, grumbling like a toddler. As the days passed, she became exponentially more cognizant of her autonomy and history. Her capibilities manifested in unusual ways, such as cajoling a middle-aged woman into letting her stay a night in her home since her daughter was away in college. Ammon, impartial to the woman's stories, was almost disturbed - yet simultaneously pleased - with how apathetic she was, yet, still found a way to communicate her thanks.

It took almost three showers and a soak in water so hot it could inflict first degree burns on a human. She purged the dirt from her complexion, revealing a swarthy complexion and eyelashes as long as a spiders' legs. The mats in her hair were so fargone she had to carve them out, ultimately borrowing a set of clippers from her host to shear the entirety of her head. By the time she had dusted the last remnants of raven black hair from her shoulders, she felt the familiar throbs of pain start at her fingertips. She thanked her host for her hospitality and was on her way, shrugged into her daughter's rugby underarmor and her husband's ill-fitting sweatpants. That night the city streets were thick with moisture, as the stench was rising up from the sewers. It was a comforting smell, not unlike some of the sulfur lakes outside the City of Dis. She was so ensorcelled with the putridity of it that she did not notice the fragments of trash biting into her baby-soft feet. Eventually it become apparent enough for her to seek some sort of resolve, but it did not come in the shape of footwear - it came in the shape of a decanter of whiskey purloined from a corner store.

She kept herself ensconced in an alleway, drumming up schemes to help her better situate herself and extract her alembic, wherever it may have been. It was then that some students traipsed by, or what she believed to be students. They all appeared young like her, but much better clothed. She snapped open the plastic neck on her whiskey bottle, hungrily pouring stuff down her throat as if she was parched for water. By then, the students were chuckling at her. She blinked; they were gone, the pads of their footsteps but an echo down the alley. She was more content with staving off the pain in her body than the laughter of some human souls, so stuck to her haunt, lapping at the last drops of her drink until another familiar scent rode up into her nostrils. This scent, however, was not something native to the human reality - it was something from her home.

Ammon stalked the alley, her nose to the brick, to the dumpsets, like a hound searching for a fox. It was then she'd witnessed a creature from her home, hiked up on all fours, poised to pounce on a straggler from the human group. Instinctively, she lobbed the bottle at its head, which shattered and resounded like a grim, glassy deathknell. It huffed, snarling and sending spittle every which direction. When it made eye contact with Ammon, it winced as if injured. "Your Emanence," chattered in broken english. Ammon encroached, barefoot still, her feet bleeding on the jagged hunks of glass. "I have come, to find it, on your behalf." It was a lie. By the time it had finished speaking, Ammon's hand - which was strangely covered in ritualistic tattoos and markings - was on its forehead. What came next was its undoing. With the full, sheer force of a shotgun, the demon's brain matter was splattered over the brick, bright red in the dancing neon light that slanted through the broken staircase overhead. Ammon, one clean, was sodden again, disdainfully wiping chunks of fetid black flesh from her winsome face.

 

[SinfullyDelicious]

Ben had run maybe half a block when he heard the loud thud followed by a familiar shattering of glass come from behind him. Even though his body was screaming at him that it wasn't important, that he should just keep running, he stopped and turned around. He looked at the monster to see the liquid dripping off its head. Someone had just thrown a bottle of liquor at the beast. Ben had to admire the balls on whoever was stupid enough to think that a tiny bottle would stop a beast like that. The monster clearly thought the same thing as Ben did, as it huffed in what seemed like amusement before sending its spittle down with a viscous snarl. The beast then looked past Ben, and Ben turned to follow the monster's stare t see a very strange sight indeed. There was a woman standing there, she appeared to be in some ill fitting clothes and...rugby pads?

If they survived this Ben would have to tell this woman about physiques and how an inch of tough plastic would not be enough to protect you from a fang that looked to be at least eight inches long. This thought was lost when he heard the beast speak in English, it called the woman 'Your Emanence,' that was odd on so many levels. The woman did not bother to respond to the creature, even as it told her that it had come here on her behalf. Ben just watched in awe and confusion as the woman casually walked up to the creatures and put its hand on its forehead. Was this thing her pet? Did she summon it to kill him?

That thought was lost when there was a sudden explosion and the thing died in an instance. The woman did not flinch of course, she just wiped the parts of the beast off of her with a look on her face like she could kill the thing again for having the gal to bleed on her as it died. Ben was more than a little confused, but he was not dead, and that was something. His eyes went over the woman standing in front of him again, looking her over from head to bloody feet. He stared down at those bare feet that had clearly been walking through glass and he decided it was best to approach her.

There was no way in hell he thought that this woman was here to save him. She was here for some other purpose, and the demon had considered her some sort of ally before its inevitable death. None of this made any sense, and Ben figured the best thing to do was to do what he had been doing a few moments prior to this, to turn tail and run. He stared down at the woman's feet, they were bloodied and cut up from her lack of shoes and the dirty streets that she had been walking in. Perfect. He thought to himself, she might be able to kill things with a touch, but at least she would not be in a spot to chase after him. On top of that, she hadn't even seemed to notice him yet, maybe he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time twice, that could explain it.

So, trying to make as little noise as possible he began to take a few steps backwards. After making it a foot or so away he saw that he was within running distance of the corner of the block. It was then that he bolted again, rounding the corner and shooting down an alley way as fast as he could. He never really realized that they might be going after the thing that was still glowing in his pocket, who would put those facts together. All he knew was that he was less than a few minute run from his apartment, and he was pretty sure that whatever that woman is, and that thing was, he was fairly certain that they at least didn't know where he lived.