The ultimate threat of the situation Cyth found themself in was that of the loose devil. If they were to escape, their reign over the region would be reestablished soon after. Too many cultists, too much influence; Hell wouldn’t forfeit this city and its foundation for environmental destruction, not after knowing its effects in the far future. Too much time had been squandered assisting the rescue workers, and so Cyth propelled themself into the crumbling depths, once again pinging for direction.

“Tsk… Beneath me?” Cyth spoke to themself, frustrated with the ping’s results. The strongest pull was directly under them, somewhere in the vague hill that the skyscraper had been belittled to. There was no simple way to navigate the labyrinth of wreckage, certainly not towards any specific point. Halls were flipped and twisted, entry ways were pits of blackness, and tears in the walls connected completely different rooms. Cyth peeks into some of these routes, deciding between three to five of them which option would be best…

… but they never make their choice. In the midst of contemplating where to go, the floor -- or whatever they stand on -- shudders beneath their feet, succumbing into a pit that creeks eerily. Cyth instinctively lessens their weight in what ways they can, realizing that the ground is about to collapse, but their reaction makes no difference. The shallow pit swallows just enough waiting room chairs and pieces of a reception desk that the load becomes too much. After a loud snap and an eruption of dust, the floor crumbles, then falls apart entirely.

Cyth tries to catch themself by clawing onto anything, but they respond too slowly. Too much of the floor gives way, and all too quickly, Cyth is plummeting into the hole alongside the trash that had caused the collapse. Their arrogance up until now proves flawed, their composure forgone when they realize the fall is far longer than anticipated. It surprises them as it would anyone; how is so much open space available under the ruins of a skyscraper? Between the pitch black and the fall itself, of course, there was no yet telling what they had stumbled into.

A terse gasp is all that Cyth releases before crashing. At their 25 foot scale, their weight hits the ground hard, causing a new series of rattles to run through the building. Even in their dazed state, Cyth notes to beware how they throw their weight, having reached such depths. If the chamber they had discovered was still so open, it was likely that a careless misstep could result in the entire space collapsing in on itself. In a situation like that, the devil would certainly be able to escape with Cyth mired in rubble and a boom of chaos to throw off the trail.

But what was this room exactly? Cyth can only tell so much, refusing to move from where they were laid until they’re assured of the chamber’s integrity. From feel alone, their hands graze over rows of identical things, as do their bare feet. The surface they sit on is uneven and sloped, but far more structured than the broken chunks of bricks, pipes, and steel beams. All seemed to be in fair condition except where they had landed, their body having flattened whatever these objects were into a crater.

It was worthwhile to flick on a magical light, but illumination filled the chamber before Cyth could do so themself. Bright lights were activated in sets at a time, their suddenness blinding Cyth as though being aimed at them specifically. They shielded themselves from the flashes coming from the ceiling’s corners, their squint slowly piecing together the setting. Rows of theater seats stretched out from both sides, all facing a stage that the slope of the room led to. It was an auditorium, left mostly unscathed by Cyth’s earlier attack. Sparse evidence suggested any level of destruction; rubble leaked in from emergency exits, catwalks were misaligned or outright fallen, and of course the hole Cyth had accidentally created, allowing a trickle of dust to continually pour where they sat. Otherwise, the auditorium was in fine condition, except where Cyth lay in the middle of the seats, their body nearly as long as the walkways that cut through the numerous rows.

It wasn’t just the lights that had been activated, but the speakers as well started to buzz with life. A moment later, a feminine voice projects through them, a tone tinted with an accent not familiar with the region: “Greetings, angel. Welcome to my sanctuary. Do pardon the mess, we recently encountered a rather rambunctious visitor.” Cyth’s vision adjusts to the lights, and as they do, a figure fades into view from the center of the stage. Someone in a suit, a clean and straightforward black, seated on one knee.

“I would call my custodial team to clean things proper,” the voice continues, “but, someone killed them all. Hard-workers, they were. Very earnest people. The state of things, oh, how mad it’s all become…”

Cyth glares at the swaying silhouette, focusing on clearly seeing its true form. There was no mistaking from such behavior that this was the devil Cyth had been on the hunt for. The figure on stage is a woman, at least, such is the shape the celestial had taken. Her feminine figure is barely noticeable, her strict attire broadening her shoulders and lengthening her torso in order to display capitalist confidence. A black suit with slacks to match, with only a flare of orange coming from her high heels and earrings. A minor hunch in her posture subdues her tallness, though as she stands at the size of an ordinary human, she is no taller than Cyth’s foot, heel-to-toe.

“What a nasty glare,” the woman scoffs as she straightens her stance, having fixed the pins placed within her chocolate-colored hair. She snickers, “No manners among angels, hm! Just let yourself in, kill hundreds along the way, but I introduce myself first? Why, you should know who I am -- CEO of Belz Industries, Brianna Smaul. The international success story? Sort of a big deal around--”

“Your real name,” Cyth demands, shifting forward in their crater, “devil.”

The devil shrugs. “Call me Oriphi then,” she sighs. “I’m not as famous with that one, unfortunately. Not currently.” Her smile forebodes a mystery that tickles Cyth’s curiosity, and Oriphi seeks to tease them further. “I had quite the schedule arranged with my operations here. Why all this nonsense and commotion? I’m a fair businesswoman. We could have penciled you in for a lunch.”

For all the attitude Oriphi has, it goes unmatched by Cyth, who retains a stoic demeanor while listening to the devil. They won’t allow this devil to distract them, so as they let Oriphi ramble, they dwell on what action to take. Having fallen right into Oriphi’s lair, the potential for a trap having been set was high. Likewise, an unexpectedly bold attack might be brasher than what the devil expects, stepping over any traps entirely. But did Oriphi speak the truth about being fair? In the crumbling auditorium, violence could unsettle the surroundings, and so perhaps a discussion could prove more beneficial.

Cyth ponders the odds, but not for long. Not wanting to test Oriphi’s patience, Cyth swiftly acts upon their plan…

--- Commence an immediate attack to overwhelm Oriphi.

--- Distract Oriphi by continuing the conversation, learning as much as you can.

--- Grow giant or shrink tiny, adapting to anything Oriphi has schemed.

“You have a significant portion of this city under Hell’s influence,” Cyth says. “I was sent here to study the impact you would make in the future, but I was taken back by how many cultists you had recruited. Even now… I feel I was right to not underestimate you.” Flattery, they assume, is the key to keeping Oriphi distracted. With a trap certainly between her and them, it was the safest strategy. If they could get Oriphi to ramble, then they could understand the design of the trap, and even possibly gleam valuable information.

The ball was in Oriphi’s court, and her smug smile had only grown wider. “Heh, cultists? We here at Belz call them associates, angel. They have employee benefits and everything. A really adaptable sick-day program, and dental.” Her pacing on the stage came to a halt, and she waved a finger at up above. “No life insurance, though. Pity.”

So, her cultists were employees, Cyth gathers from Orihpi. It was not an unfamiliar strategy, for devils to coerce membership from the human public by offering payment and other services. An entire business of this scale, however, was unprecedented. Most likely, this one building was just one branch of Oriphi’s web, made alongside other devils in other parts of the world. Restraining her for interrogation became even more of a priority; with her in Heaven’s possession, they could track down any other parts of this business.

Subtly, Cyth shifts in their seat, quietly leaning forward and bringing their legs inward. “This isn’t an ordinary scheme for devils,” they say. “It’s far more intricate than what I normally come across. Was mass pollution truly your end-goal?”

Oriphi raises her chin. “Pollution? I hadn’t considered it,” she answers, a quick shrug for emphasis. “My only goal… is to bring people together. Create a family and whatnot! Hundreds of people work here, and in other sectors of the city, too. All of them have their own needs, their own dreams. I hoped to share Hell’s power with them -- give them that boost they need in life. I saw this building be made from the ground-up, a symbol of everyone coming together. Three years of construction… all lost, because of some fickle angel…”

“You’re manipulating these people, Oriphi,” Cyth states. “You tricked them into lending their support for Hell. There was never a benevolent intention.”

Oriphi shakes her head into the tips of her fingers. “Angels… You all truly are blinded by that shining goddess of yours.” She spreads her arms to either side, a gesture of welcoming towards the giant person ahead of her. “I see now why you didn’t prefer an open discussion: you have no ability to listen! A shame, but I do have matters to attend to.” She steps backwards, towards the black curtain at the back of the stage. “Ta-ta! I must be off! I have a business to restore, after all.”

Cyth rose, not willing to let Oriphi escape, nor mislead them. Up on their feet, they do not chase after Oriphi on stage, but instead turn behind them. A long window stretches along the upper part of the back wall; it’s the control center for the auditorium, allowed a full view of the stage its workers were meant to manage. During their chat, Cyth had realized the oddity of the auditorium lights working despite the wreckage all around it. Someone had to be powering them, and there was only one location a magic-user could be doing such a thing.

Peering into the control room immediately reveals what Cyth had suspected. Crouching behind a panel of buttons and levers was Oriphi, her appearance more frazzled than it had been on stage -- that Oriphi down below was in fact an illusion, projected by Oriphi to guide her into whatever trap had been set. To sell the trick, Oriphi had to literally set the stage, and with flickering electricity flowing between her hands and into a power console, she could create the scene of a fully-functioning corporate stage.

But when Oriphi finally glanced out the window, it was clear to her how her illusion had failed. “Shit!” she unglamorously exclaims. In her surprise, the electricity she generates is lost in a fizzle. A second later, the auditorium lights all begin to blank, set by set. Before the final rack of lights die out, Cyth punches through the glass. Orihipi’s gasp is lost in the shattering sound, glass falling all around her before she’s taken into a grasping hand half as big as she is.

“Of course you would succumb to little tricks like this,” Cyth sighs over their captive. Her squirming is hard to maintain, but when both hands are applied, Oriphi is firmly locked in the two fists, only one arm free to smack at the fingers. “Many of your cultists died from my attack on the building. There was little more magical energy you could draw from them. Traps and lies are all you had left.”

“Grr…! You have no idea what I am capable of!” Oriphi yells, clawing her nails into Cyth’s fingers. An increased tightness on her body forces her to stop. “This… isn’t over…! I’ll rebuild this empire…! E-Everyone was counting on me--”

Ka-thooom! Both Cyth and Oriphi flinch as a loud crack of a noise bellows from up above, accented by the trickling of dust and debris. A tear in the ceiling breaks into a hole, allowing a build-up of rubble to pour through like sand in an hourglass. More holes burst open and support beams creak from the pressure. Follow-up explosions rumble the celestials’ surroundings, warning them of the imminent collapse.

Though blind in such darkness, Cyth rings Orpihi close under her watch. “What trap is this?!” they demand to know. “You’ll seal us both in here!”

“I know as much, ya’ twit!” Orihpi shouts, her voice barely audible over the crumbling ceiling. She shields herself with her one freed arm. “I wouldn’t do this to myself! What did you do to cause this?!”

“I didn’t--!” Cyth is stopped when a large section of the ceiling above them cracks apart, erupting with huge chunks of debris. An iron girder nearly impales them from above, but a quick duck to the side saves them from a terrible blow. Tripped by the piles of rubble, however, Cyth collapses to their knees, immediately feeling the flood of destruction weigh down their legs.

It’s all coming down, Cyth thinks, forcing their mind to a necessary calm. I’ll be trapped under all this weight -- I have to do something!

Another break in the ceiling pushes Cyth to think of a solution. They could grow and attempt to break free, but they hadn’t done that earlier for a reason: if Oriphi’s trap was still set, what problems would that create? Yet, it was the most logical approach. Shrinking was an option to hideout until everything settled, but that was a risk as well, including the possibility of Oriphi escaping. There was little time to cast a proper spell to secure Oriphi and prevent such a thing -- it was one or the other, as determined by yet another explosion detonating over their heads.

All at once, a fissure splits across the ceiling. Catwalks and lights collapse, dragging down with them what little support keeps the structure together. A wall of dust filters into the auditorium before it finally gives way entirely. As a skyscraper’s worth of scrap comes hailing down, Cyth leaps where their instincts take them…

--- Grow and use that might to power through the collapse.

--- Imprison Oriphi first, think of an escape afterwards.

--- Shrink now to take shelter and climb out during the aftermath.

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…

--- Rampage through the city in hunt of either Oriphi or that doctor.

--- Grow bigger still and crush the city, removing any lingering influences from Hell.

--- Question the citizens for info regarding either Oriphi or that doctor.