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| Vel Belmont Posts: 13/42 |
Like a clawed grip on the earth, this man hesitated not to move. As he walked towards the spitting flames, he was not even touched or licked. As for that, Zenthiroth backed away cautiously for a moment, taking eye to his opponet. So one being, save himself, descides to enter the coruption circle. Zenthiroth giggled slightly as he backed away from his circled pit in which this other dark being stood.
Frozen for a moment, the flames around this circle started to spread evenly around the rest fo the planet, scorching a rather earth sized pentagram. However, it did not stop their, the five points of the stars turned black, lightining provided a very eerie touch to the scene, as the sky was now void of air of anything that could escape it. Oxygen was dying quickly, yet the flames still licked. As the five points of the star grew dim and dark they barked loudly at the man. As if screaming to get free and enter his body, however instead, the small circle went ablaze and a eruption of fountain of blood spewed forth. As that happend, Zenthiroth started to make odd hand gestures, waving to the left and right, up and down and then as if all was silence once more, the earth started to crack and descend. No longer was it able to hold the stability that it once had, gravity seemed to leave it to the depsair of space as everything started to fall through. As the earth started to descend, Hell in its rights started to rise. Zenthiroth levitated slighly, his arms arched towards the man, however he now bared the hand of Ebony. The Ebony sword from which he called while the other being started his walk and his little poem. Zenthiroth landed back down on the scorched earth, his eyes were eroticised by the marvel. He opened his mouth wide open and allowed the smoke from his body to exhale freely, then with a quick snap of his free hand, a dozen phantasmal blades started to circle the new fied and the area he inhabited. All of them started to church slowly acting the very being at which he stood, the rate at which they flew was high, tough and straight, aiming for all the weaknesses of the joints in the being. His elbows, knees, neck and waist all the aiming points from which these energy blades were called forth from and attacked. Soon to leave this little perversion of society another dream. |
| Dark Lord 666 Posts: 8/33 |
Two will start the battle of eternal darkness. One will leave, a certain fact. The magnificent scene was set, a scene of fire and dark smoke. Not only did the immense fire light up the grassy field, but the dark blood of countless human bodies did as well. The blood was just as bright, just as clear. Those mortals souls spoke, they spoke a sorrowful story of death, love, and torture. Along with their insightful stories they brought a horrendous stench of rot.
The fire danced around whipping every which way, wildly, freely. Such a sight like this would be very unappreciated, along with looked down upon by the mere mortals that are called humans. Such lifeforms know nothing about enjoyment. They know not of the great feeling when you rip apart flesh, create carnage and destruction, breaking bones of another, or taking another's life. The inevitable fact was, human lifeforms were dull, and easily killed. Those thousands of bodies just laying there proved the point. Those bodies will soon have proper burials. But not a moment before the person who took their lives was taken care of. This person.....the being was the cause of thousands, and thousands of lives. That meant a lot. With those thousands of bodies killed by the being, that's thousands of lives that Dracuel couldn't take him self. Dracuel, was a demigod of sorts. He was a powerful being, capable of mass destruction, but you wouldn't know this information by looking at him. He took the form of a human being, as Zenthiroth did, though Zenthiroth did make slight alters to himself his true form wasn't revealed, both Dracuel and Zenthiroth knew that. Though Zenthiroth wasn't up in true form, Dracuel wasn't either. In the start of a battle of this magnitude and greatness, both fighters will fight in their weakest states, merely to see what the other has in store for them and to test out the water. This was known by every one of great and immense power and Zenthiroth was definitely no different. All of Zenthiroth's actions were watched from afar, every move was watched precisely. The body movement was just as important as the weapon Zenthiroth carried. Along with every movement of Zenthiroth, everything that was said by him was heard. Such dark words from the being, the antichrist. The time was now, the time for apocalypse was near. Dracuel was sitting about 100 feet away from the fire engulfed and engraved circle. He was sitting with his eyes shut, his legs and arms crossed. Leaving his arms crossed he stood up. Dracuel stood at about 6'3, and was slim. His hair, short but was a bit long in the front, he always left a few strands of fall over his left eye. His skin, a glowing pale white, which brought out his demonic crimson red eyes beautifully. A black marking was left on the side of his face, beside his right eye. It was a thick dark line, the marking of a Demigod. Of course, Dracuel didn't fit the exact description of a human being, but that was intended. He intentionally altered himself for intimidation purposes. His clothing seemed to be from another century. It was a one piece body suit, all a dark ebony color. The suit had blood soaked wrappings tied tight all over the body suit, making it look as if it was a black and red suit. The wrappings were drenched in a pool of blood. The infamous pool was made by Dracuel over a millennia ago. As were the bloody wrappings that he tied to himself at the same time the pool was made. Those wrappings were on him ever since he took human form, and they showed no sign of tears or rips. On his right side was a black sheath that rested upon his hip comfortably. Its hilt stuck out, the 100 wrappings for better grip on it stuck out. It was made of the same wrappings that covered parts of his clothing, but these wraps were black. They were made of his own blood. Dracuel bled black blood, his blood being very special. It hardened his human skin making it close to impossible to rip or penetrate. The only thing ever to penetrate his skins flesh was his own dark steel blade, forged by himself. As soon a Dracuel was on his two feet, he began to levitate. He was now 6 feet from the ground. His arms slowly unfolded and he turned his hand, his palms facing forward, both arms extended diagonally, but downward. He then proceeded to move forward, towards the flaming circle, towards his next battle. Within 5 seconds, he reached the circle, and he let his feet touch the floor. Without hesitation, he walked through the fire, and reached the center. There he stood with the rotting stench and the immense heat. He never made eye contact at the antichrist, he merely shut his eyes and gathered energy. His arms were on his side, he was standing very straight, and he his head was facing the ground. Taking some concentration to summon his powers, he awaited Zenthiroth's moves. Though, his eyes were shut and he was standing in a non defensive pose, he was ready for anything Zenthiroth would dish out. Dracuel clenched his fist, his mouth opened, teeth revealed. It looked as if he was struggling with something, than within a few seconds the struggling look stopped and he returned to his normal expression. His eyes still closed, his fist still clenched, he began to speak. "I find it kind of funny....I find it kind of sad.....the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had..I find it hard to tell you...I find it hard to take....when people run in circles......it's a very very...........mad world." So glad for the madness, the madness of this world. |
| Vel Belmont Posts: 12/42 |
OOC: For the one known as 666
"I bled on a pivotal stretch, like a clockwork Christ bears sore stigmata, bored and as I threw Job, I drove myself to a martyred wretch to see if I drew pity or pretty litanies from the Lord..." The blade, smoking from its place, in hand of black gauntlets, stretched from the hand to the ground, slowly cutting up the grass as this blank figure walked. Only to seem like a black figured drenched in shadow to walk around in a mindless circle, is his sword ever sputting out this black smoke, while a small fire started to grow around. "So the plot sickened with the coming of days, ill millennia thickened with the claret I sprayed and though they saw red I left a dirty white stain a splintered knot in the grain on Eden's marital aid. I walked the walks naked to the moon in Sodom and Babylon and through rich whores and corridors of the Vatican I led a sordid Borgia on." Then he stopped, his right hand digging into the hilt of his blade, while the blade seemed to lengthen more and more as he stood to the point where he just dropped it blade. The blade took offense, danced away from him, leaving a blinding trail of fire. His hair whiplashed at the winds it created and stood within the middle of the circle in which the sword engraved into the dirted field. "I read the Urilia text so that mortals wormed as livebait for the dead and as I broke hope, I chocked another Pope with manna peel dictating to DeSade in the dark entrails of the Bastille and as He wrote, I smote a royal blow to the heads of France and in the sheen of guillotines I saw others, fallen, dance. I was an incurable Necromantic old fool a phagadaena that crawled drooling over the past a rabid wolf in a shawl a razor's edge to the rule that the stars overall were never destined to last. Zenthiroth levitated somewhat from his open position towards the center of the engraved and now enflamed circle. As he touched the hilt once more, it grew to a fascinating width of 7 feet long and 7 feet in legnth. Then, altogether it started to retain its mystical form of a rapier, drapped in his hand once again. Zenthiroth showing off like this, blazing the field in patterns of an anti-vatican rioter. His pleather skirt drapped around him, steadily moving against the wind, the air started to freeze and rot, smell and odor accompanied its wish, as within this circle, a number of tortured and rotted bodies started to pile up on one another. Furnaced dreams, a poet, foe of sleep turning sermons with the smell of witchfinder fingers where bad memories lingered burning, as when Dante was freed to map Hell. I sired schemes and the means to catch sight of the seams and the vagaries inbetween... And midst the lips and the curls of this cunt of a world in glimpses I would see a nymph with eyes for me." As the smell distinguished, the field was splattered with blood almost instantaniusly, crawling was that of the fleas upon the hundred of dead bodies, all the while Zenthiroth looked, happy...placid and marveled at his experties. As he sloshed his way through the broken bones, putrid flesh and rotting corpeses, the field from an eagle eye showed the pattern of a pentagram in flames, the bodies acting as a power device to feed the circle alive. As he stepped out, the cool air whipped over him, his course eyes examing the rest of the planet within his pupils. A dark glaze churning. "Eyes of fire that set all life aflame lights that surpassed art in sight, that no intense device of pain could prise their secrets from my heart. I knew not Her name though her kiss was the same without a whisper of shame as either Virtue of Sin's and pressed to her curve I felt my destiny swere from damnation reserved to a permanent grin..." So glad for the madness... |
