#astarothstarter

Cthonius was dead. That was something that Echion would have to finish wrapping his head around at some point, he'd stayed there with his brothers until the coals had all gone cold, until they could grab the ashes with their hands and scatter him. They had to, if they hadn't who knew what some twisted fuck would try to do to the eldest of them next. Echion supposed there was vengeance, that was always palatable, likely what Udaeus would want, maybe Hyperenor too. The Pearl had promised both while dragging Pelly along by the ear- now though-

He remembered dragging Sariel through the streets by her hair, a smear of fallen ichor behind him as he did. The crunch of Astaroth's throat as he pushed his sword through it, everything was back but everything was... What did he have? A lot of alcohol, useless alcohol because his body refused to let him get drunk, but a lot of alcohol just the same.

"I think the world lost something when they traded amphoras for glass." Echion remarked as he tossed the bottle off the roof and watched it shatter across the stones in the courtyard some distance away. "Still satisfies."

"You know they gave me a badge?" Dumah held it up as he entered the record store, "Basically means I can do what I want." Being a marshal certainly had its perks, he even got discounts at the pet store. Dumah and Astaroth had never been on the same side of anything, except maybe for their mutual dislike of Ulthar. Now the rest of his Blessed siblings were dead save for Uriel, Michael, and Tisiphone. Arguably the three worst people in the world. Adatiel was the only one among the Blessed that was worth a damn, now here he was, on a fallen's doorstep looking for... He didn't know what he was looking for here. "I heard you and the others didn't fight."

Cock in full view, Raffaele couldn’t help but think the world had lost something when public artists stopped putting dick and balls in their work. He’d spent most of his life on a farm making furniture, clothes, and candles by hand while mucking out horse shit. So Rome had been a culture shock for him in the best kind of way. “That’s too big, right?” Raffaele asked as he looked towards the guy next to him and pointed to the junk on the marble statue. “I heard they used to say that guys with a big dick were really stupid, this guy must have been a total idiot.” 

There was a falling out. Raguel was dead and Echion blamed Astaroth. The other fallen could have prevented Raguel’s death, even if by no other means than taking his place. Thousands of years separated the people they’d been back then, but after the fallen’s death, Echion had left to join his siblings in a war that hadn’t had any clear victor. An Utheneric demise followed, countless years with the voice of a Great Old One his sole companion, when he’d awoken it was to a world that Echion scarcely recognized. If there were no familiar roads, there were at least some familiar presences that the spartoi opted to turn to in way of guidance in this modern age. 

 Astaroth’s face had changed, but he’d been witness to this a few times over once a time. That soul remained the same and through that the fallen had been easy enough to track down. Some dingy store with a tacky sign hung overhead as Echion waited outside while clouds rolled in overhead. All this time had past and still the spartoi had no real desire to see the fallen, their last words had been bitter - shouts hurled at one another as blame was levelled. They’d been friends, once, at the very least Astaroth could catch him up on what was going on here. It was the least he could do.

“This what you do now?” Ira had once been a fierce warrior, follower of the original rebellion, and now he what... Slung bad music and worse haircuts? Pathetic. 

The record store was quiet when Echion had entered, the plague hadn’t touched either of them, but that hadn’t kept the spartoi from avoiding him. The hollow pang in his chest was a reminder of the line that they had crossed that it betrayed him still when their eyes met from across the shop only furthered Echion’s immense shame. He’d come to from the Midsommar haze and realized the breadth of his mistake, if the spartoi was nothing else, he was deeply loyal. Loyal to a love that had perished four-thousand years ago. Echion tipped his head as he moved towards a more secluded part of the shop, his excuse for coming here was clear: the blessed had attacked the city. “I need your help with something. Your siblings have gathered here, they’re restless and out of control.”

"You didn't even fight." Echion sharpened his bone across a whetstone before he lifted the sharpened edge and pointed it towards Astaroth, playfully. "You wouldn't have done as well as me, but nobody can blame you for falling short." Demigods could lie as much as they pleased; the spartoi's goal was only to get a mild rise out of the other. Echion's body had already recovered; he was eager to keep fighting; with this adrenaline pumping, the spartoi could say he was feeling more like himself now than he had in months. "Fight me. Nothing would soothe the sting of my defeat quite like besting you."

At the top of the brother pile, Echion stirred and then kicked Pelorus in the head. He had no interest in being a part of the other's rescue mission, instead he was much more invested in what was happening to the fey right now. Echion imagined that Rome was swimming with elves that were restored to full power, eager to aid the spartois' cause. Echion felt that he owed Titania everything, foolish Pelly would be possessed already if the archfey hadn't been hiding them all for as long as they had. Later when he was done with his tantrum, Echion would deny that Pelorus had helped them at all: but that was gaslighting for another time.

Echion heard the creature before he saw it, the air shifted as a blade of bone erupted from his wrist. When he saw Astaroth the fallen was- he was changed, his skin had mottled in places and his presence was- different. No longer one of the seraphim it was like the spartoi could feel him in his head, considering where Echion had just been it wasn't hard for him to deduce some of what had happened. "The fuck happened to you?"

While the two had never met, Astaroth had always been his favourite. He wouldn't have expected to find the Ira in a record store of all places but music sang to everyone's soul. Ganymede was a lover of the arts, he couldn't sing or play any instruments but that didn't make him love it any less. "Wow, this place is yours?" Gany said as he walked in and looked the place over, "Your father told me that you were really passionate about music and I can see he was right, we're so proud of you."