Blood of The Father

[Kitty]

((I will... I made it a nice quick distration cause I didn't know powers or any certain things you would like to of done. I kinda wrote myself in a corner. I'll edit the fixed thing here.))

((This is what I wrote. Feel free to add stuff in if you wish.

---

Eloanneo watched another behemoth collapse on the ground in its death throes. She whipped her head around, surveying the battlefield around her briefly. A panicked gasp escaped her throat watching as a demon easily lifted Golphweight off the ground. Without delay, she sprinted in their direction.

As she ran, she extended her hand behind her, and with a great swing, she flung Snakedance towards the demon. Spinning in the air, the enchanted sword bent into a gleming silver crescent.

The blade hooked into the demon's flesh and clung fast. Gradually, it coiled around the beast's sinewy neck; a snake, strangling its prey.

She caught up with the sword in mere seconds, giving the demon no chance to reach for it. Like a cat pouncing its prey, she leapt onto the demon from behind. She grasped the hilt of her blade and braced her feet against the demon's scaly back. With all her might, she pulled the sword towards her.

The metal dug deeper and deeper, through hide and into flesh. She hissed as drops of stray demon blood flecked her cheeks, feeling the searing sensation of its poison. The demon clutched at the gushing wound, releasing Golphweight from his hold.

At that moment, Snakedance sprung straight and Eloanneo leapt away. She quickly wiped the corrosive liquid off her skin, watching the dying demon sway back and forth.

---

At this point, the demon has a few mins to live tops, so you can feel free to finish him off.

Mmmkay, now that that is settled, for my actual, up-to-date post...))

Eloanneo breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes briefly. Snake hung at her side, dripping with blood that was slowly evaporating. She felt her cheek being cooled and soothed by the room's healing. She welcomed the short rest very graciously.

 

[Final Warrior]

The Final Warrior entered the room, carrying his head high, like the King of Evers'ilance he once was. Tyravael trailed him, his wings folded, but dragging on the ground. Som of the white-blue feathers were burnt and charred, marking him as Fallen. Razael marched in, fire marking his path, the stench of blood trailing him, lightly punching Vox on the shoulder, a mark of friendly aggression, brotherhood rivalry.

Stepping over the healing barrier, the brothers each took a position respective to their attitudes. Razael lurked in the back, recuperating, whilst Tyravael stood near the front, alert and on-guard. The Final Warrior crossed to the center of the room, when he stumbled, coughing up blood.

"FSCK! Raph, you fscking idiot! You'll get demonblood on my boots!" Razael and Tyravael looked at their brother, spewing up blood all over the floor. "Does anyone have a mop?...

"Damn, you guys are heartless!" Vox rushed over to the Final Warrior, his arms out to aid his Brother. The Final Warrior, raised a hand, waving Vox away. Wiping the blood off the mouth of his helmet, the warrior rose, shaking his head slightly. His wounds, mostly the pierced wing, weren't healing, even within the sanctuary.

"I'm... fine." Removing his helmet, the Final Warrior pushed his hair back, his silver-gold eyes, behind the now-aqua glow, the eyes of the Final Warrior were still empty. His face, almost elven, was as smooth as the day he disappeared, three thousand years ago. His long, silver-blonde hair hung down, lightly touching the blood surrounding his lips. "Such is the punishment for feasting upon demon's blood."

 

[Tacitus]

The two dimensional representation of Torment's disguised form seemed to slide through the caverns and passages deep within the earth. He left a trail of death and destruction, opposition cut down with the precision of a manriki-gusari (blade and counterweight conencted by a chain) forged directly from the soul and fine tuned by the willpower of one that could wipe one from existance merely by perceiving it to be so. He perceived he was passing with a wake of death, and as such his willpower and the mana that flowed through him enforced that.

He seemed to be invisible not to the eyes, but to sensory perception that went beyond mortal means. It was true he altered the perception of himself to indicate that he seemed to be a two dimensional figure, a mysterious phantasm, but this went beyond that. He was drawing attention of the demons through destruction, but wouldn't let the others know he was there. He wondered if he could start a Guardinal Cascade to clear out the mountain with a single action, he likely wouldn't, but the thought was entertaining. He doubted the Solars and Planetars of Elysium would grant him such a boon in this instance.

 

[Final Warrior]

((Holy sh!t... Tac, your manriki-gusari's description is almost EXACTLY identical to the Final Warrior's Chains of the Sinner technique!))

The Final Warrior stood, wiping the remnants of blood off his lips. It burned away, within the healing aura. Vox, confused and slightly pissed off, regarded the Demonchild and Angelkin.

"What's with you guys?! You're brother is sitting there coughing up blood and you just sit there and make jokes?!"

"We do not give aid..."

"Unless specifically requested. Raphael did not call for our aid."

"But-"

"Leave it, Vox... my sins are my own. Razael and Tyravael are here to aid you... not to be my Sin Eaters." Pulling out a small compact from somwhere hidden within his armor, Raphael began to patch up his wing, while responding to Vox's, and his brothers', questions.

"I created some of the strongest healing auras in this room. Why doesn't your wing heal?"

"Thrice-damned, there is no Redemption for me. Three thousand years of wandering has taught me this. I cannot be healed by any magical means. Such is the first curse."

"Those chains of aqua... were they...?"

"Yes. Forged of my soul, an extension of my being. I am as the chains, and the chains are as I. The third curse, the Chains of the Sinner. What they touch becomes part of me, and yet, remains apart."

"So... when the chains soaked up the demonblood... you were actually drinking it?"

"The second curse, the curse of blood. It is akin to the Vampire's Embrace, though instead of granting powers determined by how under-fed I am, I instead gain the powers of the blood I feed upon, until my body rejects it."

"How did you become... like this?"

"Over time. You remember my forays into Oblivion when we had to save Evers'ilance. You remember my Ascension. Those were my first two damnations. In my three thousand years of wandering, I have changed. I am... not quite as Immortal as was once believed. The Curse of the Flesh, of the Blood, and of the Soul."

"What did you do?"

"I know part of the story..."

"As do I. You broke the Sinner's Chains, and in turn, was chained yourself."

"You took the Blade of the Saint, which is why you no longer wield the Griffin Blade... but your other curse... Blood. You... you died, didn't you, Raphael? Is that why we couldn't feel your prescence... three thousand years ago."

Raphael was silent, his empty eyes clouding over as he was sent back through time immemorial to any Mortal. That Death had been slain was amazing enough... but that the one who had slew Death was now dead himself, that was unthinkable.

((Hope no one minds all this character development...))

 

[VoxEladrin]

((Meh, builds character ))

Vox stammered, Raphael, dead? That was unthinkable to Vox. The one whom he had known since before his birth, the one who was to succeed Death himself, dead? He was standing here now, just a broken shell of what he once was. The three curses, Vox had heard about. Only one was left untill the Final Warrior was completely lost; the Mind.

Vox rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, he was starting to feel very tired. The nightmares would return but he had to risk it. The body could only take so much.

He sat against the wall of the sanctuary and closed his eyes and once again, he was assaulted with the terrible memory of the day he died.

 

[Vadriel]

Far off in the mountains, V'kleta shuddered in a hunched-over position in a small cave on the side of a sheer cliff-face. Kir'halla stood proud and erect, its tailblade embedded in the rock. Its shadowy voice echoed in V'kleta's mind, assuring him that the change was a good thing, an evolution of the body and soul, an advancement that would prove to only make him a better warrior for justice. V'kleta tried as hard as he could to resist the demon blade's lies, but his already crippled will was giving out. He muttered to himself as he quaked in pain and fear.

"No...not again...I won't do it again...not this world...not these people...I am not a monster...I am not my father...no...no, no, no, no, no!"

A birdlike demon, drawn by his voice, peeked its head in at him. V'kleta's head snapped up, and his four eyes flashed a vengeful crimson, and a wave of incinerating force blasted at the demon, completely disintigrating those parts that were in view of V'kleta. The rest of the body fell to the rocks far below, and V'kleta huddled into himself in corner of the cave, exhausted from the taxes on his soul. He fell into deep slumber, as Kir'halla watched over him and fed his subconscious an endless torrent of lies and suggestions.

 

[Final Warrior]

"How did you die? In all the years that we've known each other, I could barely ever hit you."

"It was not a single entity that slew me. A group of like-minded individuals had set out to fight me for honor and for glory... but there is no honor in a fight where the odds are a million to one, and still in my favor. And so they became demi-gods, somehow. And they did it without disturbing the flow of the Multiverse. A million demi-gods, and then even the Final Warrior fell."

"And no two individuals can be as Death..."

Rising, his wing finally fixed, the Final Warrior walked towards a wall. Placing a foot on it, Raphael walked up the wall and onto the ceiling as though it were the ground and everyone else was on the floor and ceiling, not he. Reaching the center of the ceiling, the Final Warrior spread out his feathers, as far as he could get them. The silver-black wings bore scars. Some feathers had been lost, and were only just growing back.

 

[VoxEladrin]

Vox woke up and looked upwards, his eyes widening a little.

"You know, I haven't ever seen you spread your wings out that far, brother. Never." Vox said, staring in wonder. His brother was a suffering Soul, but calm and collected as always. It was an odd fact to Vox. Still, he wouldn't prejudge his brother, not for a million years to come. Then a thought occured to him; what would happen if Raphael actually died? Who would succeed Death? Not Razael or Tyravael. They were too one sided each. Vox would slay every demon if he became Death but he wanted to be with his wife and child again in the spirit world...Such a dilema.

"Raphael, who would inheret the title of Death Incarnate if you die? Pray that day never comes..."

 

[Final Warrior]

"My wings?... Hm. I guess you are correct... I don't take flight very often, but it does feel good to stretch these wings of mine.

As for the successor to the Death... Only the strongest would become as Death. That is, he or she who kills me, becomes Death. That is the blessing and the curse. In my case, I had no choice. The son of Life and Death, the only neutral party out of three, the one who was most rebellious against Father. I was, more or less, destined to become the next Death."

Raphael dropped from his spot upon the ceiling, flipping and folding his wings closed.

"Pray not for my eternal life... only in Death shall I have peace. And someday, I will die. Someday, someone will do to me as I did to Death before. Be it for justice and honor, or for fun and profit, or out of malice and hate, someone will slay me. Just pray that, when they do, that I have lost my mind like Father before."

 

[Static]

((are we still fighting or are we chillin now?))

 

[Final Warrior]

((We be chillin', my homie G dawg.

*Slams head on desk* NEVER AGAIN!

-- Griffinhart))

 

[Static]

Stumbling in front battle Golphweight walks through the doorway gritting his teeth, his ribs had been baddly beaten up. Holding his cane closely he puts his cloak and hat on a table and rests gently down on a chair across from Eloanneo.

"You know. I do thank you, I really do, but... *Golphweight pauses for a moment of reflection* How glorious it would of been. I've been working on a small little poem, well it's hardly anything at all, but I would wonder if I may give you a small recital of it? I created the second part this afternoon."

Golphweight, still sitting down letting his ribs jab pain into his sides with every breath, clearly he resites what he has of his work while slowwly raising his left hand.

"Lady, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome."

With closed eyes and a smile Golphweight lowwers his hand and gets up with the help of his cane. Standing his throws his cloak over his forearm and places his hat atop his head, with a slight tilt.

"Well I bid Adue. Rest up my feline protector."

((I didn't say anything for you for handling of the character reasons. And Golphweights character is somehwhat of a rusher of conversation.))

 

[VoxEladrin]

Vox noticed Golphweight stumble into the Sanctuary at last, the room's magic instantly working on his ribs. He was reciting a poem to Eloanno and he smiled. This man was smitten with the Nephilm, no doubt about it. He knew what it felt like to love someone but then that memory came with great pain as well. His wife and daughter were in heaven, watching him. He wanted so badly to be with them. Yet, he would not die untill his mission was complete. He needed to destroy Wolffang and finish it once and for all.

Vox didn't notice that his fist was bleeding from the anger put into it.

 

[Final Warrior]

"Brother... calm thyself, before you end up killing yourself."

"Shouldn't it be 'Brother, calm thyself, before thou doth kill thyself?' "

Raphael waved Razael's words away. Golphweight was, more or less, serenading Eloanneo. It would have been sweet to Raphael, if it weren't for the fact that his heart had been dead for over three thousand years.

In the far back of the cave, Razael sat, mumbling silly words to himself, ocassionally humming. Something was stirring inside the demented mind of the normally-lucid youngest Griffinhart. Suddenly he leaped out from his dark little corner, leap-frogging over Raphael, out the entrance of the cave. Sounds of combat ensued, and some members of the party rose, but Raphael and Tyravael were as calm as ever. Razael soon came strolling in leisurely, swaggering, even using the Demon's Rage as a walking cane. In his left hand, Razael held a small bag of some sort.

"Heh. Silly little me. I forgot the booze."

"Oh yes. Your lethal alcoholic drinks are worth so much more than your life, aren't they?"

"As far as you're concerned, Tyravael, they are. So just hush that angelic little mouth of yours and leave me to my bottle. or would you rather that the Cursed One come alive?"

 

[Vadriel]

Far away in his cave, V'kleta awoke. His four eyes focused sharply on his surroundings, and his gaze flickered to his weapon, still standing straight up in the rock, watching its slave with a grim pleasure. The bodies of several various demons littered the small cave, obviously dealt with by the scythe as V'kleta slumbered. The blade hummed with the power it had built up from the souls of the beasts, and it echoed a welcome in his head.

V'kleta stood upright and stretched, an immense yawn issuing forth from between his jaws, which seemed a bit heavier than before. He walked out to the small ledge outside of the cave that extended a couple of meters before falling away into a sheer rock face. V'kleta's gaze jumped to his hand, then traveled up the length of his arm to his chest.

His normally olive-green skin had darkened to a shade that was nearly brown. In small patches all over his chest and arms, small, chitonous horns had sprouted. He flexed his wings, to find that somehow in the short time he had slept, a new set had grown from slightly beneath his old ones. He spread all four wings and marvelled at their impressive span. His now more bulky tail curled up into his view, and he clicked the scissor-like blades at its end, testing their use.

He turned to a smooth rock face on the side of the cave entrance, and blasted it with a small but intense gout of fire. The rock melted and reformed, a slick and reflective surface similar to glass. He peered at his face in the makeshift mirror, and ran a finger along his warped lower jaw. It seemed...bigger. The horns at the apex of the curve of his jawline were more accented, and a peculiar crease split his lower jaw from his bottom lip to his chin. He drew a claw across it, and furrowed his brows. He opened his mouth as he would normally, and his jaw came down like it would have any other time. He flexed new muscles he was unfamiliar with, and the rift separated, his jawbone completely parting at the crease and spreading apart into insect-like mandibles. Inside his maw were all the components of a human mouth, but with some added rows of teeth. Apparently, he could use his mouth as a normal man, or could ravage with all the ferocity of a wild beast.

Closing his jaws, he turned his attention to the upper part of his face. Two things stood out to him: his eyes and his brow horns. His eyes, all four of them, were narrow slits that mimicked their former reptilian nature, but glowed like fiery embers of hatred. What had once been small, decorative studs of bone above his eyebrows had grown into twisted horns that jutted out several inches from his forehead and curved back to almost meet his hairline. All in all, his features far more accurately depicted his demonic heritage then ever before...even more than back then.

He was unsure that the others would accept him back into their ranks, particularly after the scene of mass devastation that he had unleashed. He figured that would be least likely of obstacles, since their ferocity had been exemplary as well, but his new, more demonic appearance could prove to be an obstacle...considering that the entire mission was a demon-hunting expedition. Oh well, he would have to see.

He beckoned to Kir'halla, which very willingly slithered into his grasp, the handle warm with the energy of the souls trapt within. He could tell that a significant piece of his own soul was imprisoned alongside the others, but he severly doubted that that energy would be used for attacks or sorceries. With his captor in hand, and the torments he suffered directly prior to his slumber wiped from his mind by Kir'halla's subliminal deceit, he spread his two sets of wings and flew off to locate the exit he had created when he blew out of the tunnel. From there, he could track the others and meet back up with his party. He still had a quest to complete...and even through all of his metamorphoses, his honor would not be compromised...his soul would not allow it. Once the demon leader had been slain, and his soul fed to Kir'halla, he could begin his work anew. He could begin the enslavement of this Realm...

 

[Kitty]

Sunken to the floor, with her knees drawn up to her chin, Eloanneo rested. She hardly noticed any of the happenings in the room around her. Only when she sensed someone near and opened her sleepy eyes, she found Golphweight sitting on a chair, facing her.

"You know. I do thank you, I really do, but... *Golphweight pauses for a moment of reflection* How glorious it would of been. I've been working on a small little poem, well it's hardly anything at all, but I would wonder if I may give you a small recital of it? I created the second part this afternoon."

She blinked, not quite sure of whether to refuse or accept the offer. Her mind, however, was so clouded with sleep that she said nothing and quietly regarded the man as he slowly recited his poem. She had to admit, he liked the short piece. She raised her head slightly, read to pas on a compliment, but instead, Golphweight rose off his chair.

"Well I bid Adue. Rest up my feline protector."

Eloanneo lowered her chin back on her knees, nodding slightly. In mere moments, she was almost asleep again, sinking into a dream as only a cat would.

((Catnap? Yay.

Speaking of catnaps, I apologize for mine. ^_^;; ))

 

[Vadriel]

Flying amongst the mountaintops, V'kleta sighted his exit point. The hole in the mountainside was a mass of misshapen rock, superheated and smelted by his violent departure, and cooled back into a formless blob of lavalike material. Dropping down into the hole, he found himself amidst the remnants of a brutal battlefield. Bodies littered the caverns by the hundreds, most of them products of his bloodlust. Unfortunately, most of them were butchered beyond use, but Kir'halla peered in delight at the more intact corpses among the wreckage. Expending a portion of the energy within itself, the demon blade poured a shadow of life into the bestial cadavers. The reanimated warriors, numbering roughly a hundred or so, arose and knelt before V'kleta, acknowledging their new master.

V'kleta mused inwardly to himself. He must try not to dismember his foes so brutally...if he managed to kill and reanimate the majority of this "Wolffang's" demon army, he would easily have the beginnings of an army himself. Such could prove useful in his conquest.

V'kleta located the demon servants that would most efficient suit his task and called them before him. Very humanlike, the Raeviaar demons were known for having sorcerous talents, nowhere near the power of purebreed mages, yet still a foundation for greater usefullness. Holding his scythe before him, V'kleta imbued the 14 Raeviaars with the necromantic abilities that Kir'halla had used to reanimate the warriors in the cave. He then sent them and the rest of his newly acquired army into the tunnels of the mountain to seek out more "recruits." He gave express instructions to stay well away from the party of heroes, however. They must not be aware of what was going on around them.

V'kleta smiled and started down the tunnel in the direction of his "comrades." With his army in its infant stages and about to enter a state of steady growth, things were going quite well. He had not even needed any assistance from the undead in enslaving the old world...with an army of demons by his side, nothing would be able to stop him from taking down this one...

 

[Final Warrior]

((Finally there's more life in the RPR!))

Of course, Raphael could feel what was going on. But he did nothing about it. Three thousand years ago, he would've stopped V'kleta right then and there. Butnow, Raphael knew it wouldn't have been of any use. He was a neutral party; it wasn't his place to interfere in the doings of V'kleta.

However, his brothers felt otherwise.

"And why has Vox employed the assistance of someone even worse than that demon he's hunting?!"

"I agree with the Demonchild. We should stop him. We must, else he damn the world."

"Do what you must. I cannot interfere... not until he unbalances everything. Only then can I do anything."

"Fine then. I'll go back to Hell and see who I can get. Even an Exile has pull, especially when he wonce was a Lord."

Razael rose, drawing an intricate pentagram on the ground with pure fire. Uttering a primal roar, he stepped into the center, vanishing through the floor.

"And I shall see what the forces of Heaven can do."

Tyravael did no intricate ritual, instead just vanishing into nothingness.

Raphael remained where he was, mentally smiling to himself, thinking. "Poor Brothers... Heaven and Hell will never unite. I they did, the multiverse would unbalance. But... good luck to you both, regardless." Raphael tunred to Vox.

"V'kleta... that damned one. Do not underestimate his powers."

 

[Vadriel]

V'kleta neared the camp. Kir'halla stopped him with a warning whisper. It seemed that the others were somehow aware of his activities. This was not expected...hmmm...what should be done in this situation?

V'kleta reflected a moment...this could easily play into his plans...for the others will know of his gathering of an army, but there is no way that they could read his mind and know his true intentions. His defenses were too high, any lesser mortal would be driven insane attempting to probe his mind, and greater mortals and lesser dieties would suffer excruciating pain, clouding whatever information they may have learned. Yes, let the others be aware of the army gathering...but let them assume that it was to be done in their favor. He continued his approach of the camp.

He hesitated just outside their range of vision. He thought for a moment on how to enter the camp, and decided to just walk in.

Upon entering the camp, he noticed the absence of the Demonchild and Tyravael. This could not be good...but still, appearances must be kept up, such as they were...which reminded him of what the looks on the faces of those who remained should have: his appearance.

He raised his hands to hold off any questions. "Do not be alarmed...I don't think that this metamorphosis has done anything but make me a more powerful warrior. Wolffang's forces will have much to deal with when we encroach upon them. As for now, I fear the change has greatly fatigued me...and I must rest."

Passing Raphael, he frowned. "Where are your brothers?"

 

[Final Warrior]

Raphael could easily tell that V'kleta's changes had done much more than make him a simply more powerful warrior, but Raphael couldn't sense any outward hostility. Then again, Raphael couldn't sense anything in V'kleta. His defenses were good. Raphael hadn't encountered such in a long, long time. Not since Father.

"The Demonchild and Angelkin have pressing business to attend to."

Of course, Raphael was no slouch at masking his prescence. Anyone attempting to break into the mind of Death would find one of two things, either horrible pain and suffering, that of an infinite mutliverse, or a hollow and disorienting emptiness.

Raphael looked straight at V'kleta, but spoke to Vox.

"It seems we are all here. Shall we continue this quest?"