Of Body and Blood....

Of Body and Blood....

Postby Seranos » Wed Jan 21, 2004 10:57 am

Of Body and Blood....

Soon..... they slavered......Soon.

They had begun to arrive en masse from the bowels of an old funerary crypt below the small church - many miles beyond the forest of Myrken. Down in the darkness, where the light of the morning sun would not - dared not - go, yawning chasms of fire and shadow had begun to spring to life. Ambient energies released had begun to alter the very stonework, warping and distorting religious parephenalia into a mockery of their former glory. The servitors had heeded an ancient call to arms in the wee twilight hours, before the sun's golden rays had peaked through the Eastern windows in the church, bathing the blood-slaked tiles and pews in a strangely ethereal glow. They were the butchers of Hellrock. Ancient warrior demons that had waited in service to the Demon Prince for uncounted lifetimes, breath baited in askance to continue their slaughter upon the World of Men. Amidst the strewn bodies that were heaped about, most in various states of dismemberment or disintegration, small carrion imps scavenged the flesh left in the wake of their Master's passing. The jackals of the Underworld.

Whence the night had still dominion over the land, the Demon had flown through the darkness of the night - pain gnawing at his mind, blinding him through a red haze and bloody tears that streaked a face now ashen gray with the distortion of the Demon's Being itself.
He had come upon this small farming town's church, where all those gathered ushered their songs up in elation and cries for salvation. Those songs had turned abruptly into screams as the wood of the door splintered and a beast wrought death and destrution among them. It would seem that the only greater powers to hear their cries was the one who wished to feed his hunger upon their body and blood.

As it was, in ancient days he had rebelled against the intrinsic hatred and fury that was within his very core. The Demon, Seranos, had spent millenia honing a facade of structure and order. Walls and a strong mental mask to hold his emotions at bay and keep the seething darkness burried down inside of his very core, where as such they could not provide any sort of weakness to him. Or so he thought. Over the years, like ice enclosing an open flame, it had begun to crack and melt under the growing heat and pressure from beneath.
He couldn't have told anyone what the original catalyst was to begin such deterioration. He had spent his entire life strengthening this to the point that not even the damnable Tehridel could actually get much of a rise from him. What anger did show, was always a cold and slow burn.
The cracks had begun to grow, and the run-off had gradually quicked.
It was then, that a fateful encounter barely a sun's passing prior, had finally broken the ordered malice that was Seranos - his lawful evil was shattered in a growing maelstrom of seething Chaos.

Even as his hunt had been interrupted by Pyra and Tehridel, saving the elfling from what could have been a gruesome fate, last vestiges of the old Demon clung desperately to hold back the growing tide that threatened to overwhelm him. Perhaps it would have been better had he been killed that night. For in his flight, his cries of anguish had woken beasts of ancient malice, and eldritch evils. Some would fight against him. Some would bow before the might of his Will.

Seranos had been a wicked man. He was a Demon, after all. He had committed murder, genocide and other acts of depravity. It was however, different, from what had grow hungry in the depths of his heart. It had grown fat off three and a half millenia of anger, rage, hatred and fear.

And now....if any remnant of Seranos still existed, he would have known fear. For in one moment of weakness, he had become strong. The brutality of the Demon would be umatched. It appeared that in all the hatred and anger - there was an untapped strength.

Amidst the blood slaked pews of that church, a metamorphosis had begun. Physically and spiritually he was changing. In his breast a heart of burning Chaos thrummed. In his elegant features, once-silver eyes - now black as a cold void - looked up to the dawning sun, and supple lips twisted into a fanged smile.

Seranos the Demon Prince....was no more.

Seranthyum the Angel of Chaos was born out of the ashes of the old - to feast on body and blood.
"I lost my soul when I fell to earth...
My planet calls me to the void of my
birth."
- Monster Magnet, "Space Lord"
Seranos
Member
 
Posts: 14
Joined: Wed Apr 02, 2003 7:42 pm
Location: The High Temple of Samism

Requiem to Chaos

Postby Seranos » Tue Jan 27, 2004 8:33 am

Beyond the ken of Mortal thoughts and dreams, through metaphysical barriers erected in bygone days before the birth of the stars themselves, were other worlds. Infinite in number and as infinite in variety they seemed - for none now lived who remembered them all. Each owning a reality unique in all the tiniest of detail. These worlds held spiritual beings, for most if not all, were composed of more energy and thought then body and blood. Some were benevolent, others....far more malignant.
And yet, even beyond the ken of these spirits there were Others that dwelt. Gods, some called them. The Creators of Life itself - so far detatched from the realities below them that their motivations, hopes and desires were incomprehensible to even the most learned mind.
Between these worlds, dwelt the unending Void - a cold oblivion of non-existance, while imposed atop all these worlds dwelt the astral and ethereal realms - where the Minds of the Childer races may go in thought and dream, respectively.

All roads, spiritual and ethereal, eventually lead to the World of Men. Men were a curious breed - ambitious and adaptable. This World had been forged in the fires of Eternity to be their home - and those smiths that smote their hammers upon the mountains and valleys also built a reality that, for the most part, prohibited the coming of Spirits from the Outlying realms.

All were not perfect however, as little ever truly is. Through specific rites - loopholes - found by mortal weavers of Magick, spirits were granted entrance to the world. And such did the forces of Truth, and Love array against Death and Hatred. Some became as Gods to the Mortal man, others merely contented themselves to watch.

It was as such however, that one prolific and Mighty race of Spirits - now known in the tongue of Men as Angels - fractured from their life and light-loving kin. These Fallen became the most merciless and depraved of those Spirits who dwelt regularily upon the mortal worlds. Many wars were fought, and at last, through a great effort of goodly spirits, were the Fallen bound into vessels of unclean flesh. Trapped now inside bodies, horrid in both sight and aura, they were named Demons and Devils - the Enemies, and Decievers. Powerful in their own right, for what they once were could never be extinguished, these forms limited them in the scope and magnitude of their strength. They were cast howling into a pit of Fire and Shadow. It would eventually become known as Hell.

Time flowed on, and in the everlong journey through age and eon, and that which once reigned blood upon the world, was forgotten. Demons proved to be prolific, and with each generation, they grew further and further removed from the raw spiritual power of what they once were.....

And for sixty-four million millenia, they spread through the worlds - like a virus infecting host after host after host.

-------------------------------------

It was well after sunset, that awareness crept back into His mind. Silence was the only companion to Him as He knelt upon the blood-slaked carpet that ran the length of the church's main aisle. Carrion imps had fed upon the bodies, picking them clean until little remained but stained skeletons - but they were not to be found in the silence of the altar room. They had fled to feed upon livestock and the dead recently burried in nearby townships.

The darkness of the night seemed crisp to His new eyes. The void-black gaze peered wide-eyed about, puzzled and stunned by the awareness now possessed. New strength hummed in His arms. About His bared shoulders, sable locks spilt haphazardly, possessed of a new lustre, that shone silken in the moonlight and cascaded down, to below His broad shoulders where the colour seemed to leech away - bleeding into metallic platinum silver upon the tips of his hair. Beyond pale lips, fanged teeth glistened with moisture, as a dark grin slowly spread across His beautiful features - even now more exagerated than before. Under each eye, trailing down like the path of a tear, two thin markings - tatoo's, if you will - of intertwined black and gold, were drawn from the outer corner of eyes, and down, following the sculpted path of His cheekbones and jaw. From the strength of His shoulderblades, two great pinions of white feathers rustled and flexed, testing their strength like a newborn.
Perhaps that term was indeed correct for Him. He was a newborn. A newborn with untested strength and few trials beneath his belt.

Deeply in His mind, He became aware of other presences. Beneath. They were gathering. Waiting for Him. His orders. His Command. To do His will.

Shifting His gaze down across the naked flesh of His body, bathed in the silver glow of the moon, He smiled slightly - there were no wounds upon His flesh. Even old scars had healed away and become nothing more than memories - memories He was finding it increasingly hard to remember. It felt as if He was watching His former life as through the eyes of another. And He was.
It was true. He was no longer the Demon, Seranos.

The Strength of the Fallen was His.
Primordial Chaos burned in His breast.
He would dine upon the bodies of His enemies.
He would sow the harvests with the blood of the innocent.
And while He had not regained the full extent of His strength, nor would He for some time, He knew that Chaos could afford little time for patience.

The time for inaction...for woven threads and manipulated strands of Destiny....was over.....

Lo, did His laughter rise into the cold Winter sky...and the Gods and Goddess' wept at the twilight of their Children.
"I lost my soul when I fell to earth...
My planet calls me to the void of my
birth."
- Monster Magnet, "Space Lord"
Seranos
Member
 
Posts: 14
Joined: Wed Apr 02, 2003 7:42 pm
Location: The High Temple of Samism


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