Angelic - Part IX [Patron-Guided] (Patreon)

(Due to a tie, I chose between the two winning options~)

Cyth spreads their legs as they aim themselves towards that crumbling ceiling. Their instincts guide them with burning might, to follow through with the most obvious solution. A light envelops their body, much as it did the same when they first shrank into the city. Magic swirls around their shining silhouette, which then begins to expand in all directions. By growing to an enormous height, Cyth intended to break through the ceiling and the tons of debris crashing through it; they would survive the collapse and still have Oriphi in hand to turn over to Heaven.

Their body grows, but the pool of sandy wreckage builds up to their ankles as fast as they expand. Another fissure breaks open above Cyth’s head, pummeling them with heavy boulders of debris. They ignore the first few hits, but a great weight befalls their shoulders, nearly enough to make them topple. Cyth growls and powers through, for as long as they can. Darkness overtakes their vision, just as the dust of destruction fills the air; nothingness threatens to entrap Cyth, regardless of their size.

The forces appear equal -- the ceiling’s incredible weight all focused on the unrelenting stance Cyth was forced into. Growing and growing still, the debris flooding in was being shoved aside, compacted into the corners as to make room for the auditorium-encompassing celestial. After a long struggle of resisting the rain of rubble, the tides finally begin to turn; Cyth can nearly push the weight off from themself as it starts to feel lighter. However, just before their confidence could swell, trouble arises in the form of an electric shock.

“Gggrgh!” Cyth winces, then wails as lightning courses through their body. The burden above them immediately asserts its weight, threatening to rush down and crush the celestial under it for showing such weakness. But the pain doesn’t end -- another shock mercilessly runs through their body, again and again. Cyth yells for Oriphi to cease, but she has no control over her own trap, not any longer. Cyth identifies the sinking, enfeebling sensation correctly; a celestial neutralizer, likely arranged in and under the stage itself. Once it was crushed under Cyth’s growing legs, the magic was discharged, continuously draining her of stamina as much as it was nullifying her magic from manifesting.

All the while, the hundreds of tons of weight on Cyth’s back persist in its downfall. Cyth’s knees buckle with a crash into the pool of debris. Their arms quiver and slip from their positions. Unable to grow any further, and without the strength to claw out of the wreckage, they meet their fate with an exhausted, disappointed sigh. Resistance is given up as Cyth’s body collapses forward, abandoned and sunken in the very destruction they caused. The cracking of walls and floors continues all around the angel as the rubble falls into place…

“Excellent trap,” Cyth says bitterly. They can’t move, not even their neck.

“Save it,” Oriphi snaps back.

“No-- I mean it. You managed to catch two celestials. That’s a great achievement. And for a devil, no less--”

“You caused this yourself, angel!” Oriphi’s yell was ended with a giggle. “So much trouble, and for what? Really now… None of this was necessary, but you decided it should be this way, eh? I suppose I don’t have it as bad -- this bubble of yours is rather comfortable. Certainly better than being impaled by girders.”

Cyth sighs, unable to exert anything else in the darkness. Even Oriphi’s voice came from seemingly nowhere, wherever Cyth’s fist holding her happened to be in their locked-up position. There’s no movement, and what little can be fidgeted causes cave-ins to fill any space made. Brute force had failed, at least, for the meantime. Eventually, Cyth’s connection with Heaven would return, and then they could continue with their plan to grow through the debris. For now, it was simply a matter of waiting, and ensuring that Oriphi did not break out of her bubble.

The silence of the frozen scene is broken, by the distant sound of crumbling pieces. Cyth is alert, their eyes opened anew, sifting through the darkness. The sound chips again, like digging was happening somewhere overhead, but the source eluded Cyth. They try to charge themself with holy magic, but fail -- it isn’t time yet. The burrowing continues, distinctly coming closer to where they are trapped. And then, a trickle of wreckage falls in front of Cyth’s face, blown away by a huff out their nose. Someone has arrived, but Cyth struggles to see through the darkness and identify the figure. A beam from a flashlight illuminates the compact crevice, but does not reveal the person behind it.

Cyth glares at the hole being made. “Who goes there?” they beckon, pushing forward an authoritative voice. They see movement from a shadowy figure, someone dressed in a heavy uniform. “... Treavor? I-Is that…?” It was a fair guess, having noticed the emblems on the jacket were the same as those of the rescue workers, but there was no telling one apart from the other. The helmet veils their face, but regardless of their identity, the figure continues to scale down the debris, unphased by the celestial’s presence. They say nothing, even against the demanding tone of the giant.

“Do not disrespect me,” Cyth orders, yet the person moves without interruption. They stand eye-level to the angel atop a heap of rubble. “I may be apprehended this moment, but be aware that my holy mission has not ended. Do not interfere, mortal.”

“You can trust me,” the person replies, their voice filtered by the mask. They do not look at Cyth, instead digging into a black bag they had carried down with them. The flashlight cast into the bag reveals an item, a syringe, that is as long as a shotgun. Cyth’s eyes flicker with curiosity as the tool is readied and looked over in the hands of the intruder. “I’m a doctor.”

The doctor, so they claim to be, treads down the wall to where Cyth is buried at the neck. Cyth grimaces and twists their head away, but there is no hiding their exposed neck. The area rumbles in their attempt to move, “Do not touch me! No human creation can defeat a celestial -- thousands of years under our rule should have taught you as much!”

The doctor hesitates, just to snicker. “The only lesson I’ve learned is that celestials are very, very predictable.” The syringe is stabbed into the neck, punctuating the ire in the doctor’s voice. It’s hardly a sting to Cyth, but their concern is of the syringe’s function. Just as it appears to be depleting a red concoction into their veins, so too does it drain an essence from their body, a glowing blue that fills several small vials lining the handle.

Cyth groans, still unable to squirm away from a creature that was frustratingly smaller than them. “Tell me what this is about! What is that?!”

“It’s a good haul,” the doctor replies, lovingly patting the device. Its red contents are exhausted and its vials filled, and so the syringe is removed without fanfare. Cyth feels only enraged by the interaction, but no other effect. The doctor cares little for her confusion as they dislodge one of the blue vials to admire, teasing its mystery right in front of Cyth’s bewildered face.

“What did you pull from me, mortal?!” Cyth shouts, a voice so strong it rattles the loose debris, yet still isn’t enough to halt the doctor. Climbing back up to the very hole they burrowed in from, the doctor takes their leave without another word.

Was that a cultist? Or even another devil? The possibilities stew within Cyth, abandoned in the ruins while their anger swirled. First fumbled into a trap, and then experimented on by an arrogant human; as their emotions surge, so too do their magical capabilities. The nullifier’s effect weakens and energy flows through Cyth like blood allowed to run again. Waiting is over, and so Cyth returns to their original plan -- to grow right out of the wreckage.

The mountain that stands where a skyscraper once did begins to shake, renewing the distress of its onlookers. Like a volcano gearing to erupt, the mound reels upwards, an avalanche of debris flowing down its sides and into the roads. A hunched figure breaks out from the wreckage, a swing of raven black hair flung back as their head cranes out from the suffocating confines. The body, enveloped in light, expands to greater heights in the open air, their feet shoving aside the debris that once imprisoned them. The angel concludes their growth at a terrifying 200 feet, neck-and-neck with the adjacent buildings that still survived.

Cyth’s fist clenches -- nothing in its grasp, not the protective bubble they had been holding. Oriphi had escaped, just as Cyth had feared would happen. Was it another scheme the devil had pocketed? Or was that alleged doctor a cultist, there to rescue Oriphi from defeat? Cyth looks down at the city, angling their glare from block to block in pursuit of either target, but within the clustered crowds, no specific face can be found.

The sun is setting, both on the city and Cyth’s research. Everything had escalated rapidly, what was meant to be a leisurely study had instead become a battle between heaven and hell, and in the end, Cyth has nothing to show for it except a dirtied robe. Their emotions clash inside them, forming a rage that drives them towards action. They refuse to return to goddess Amana empty-handed, they refuse to be defeated by this city…

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