sonofsatanbaby (sonofsatanbaby) wrote in oh_marvelous, @ 2010-10-23 21:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | z: om1: !complete, z: om1: location: new york, z: om1: past character: daimon hellstrom |
character: Hellstorm, OTA
setting: Somewhere creepy.
content: Freaky demon stuff?
summary: It's one of those days. Daimon's in a diabolical mood and he's gotta take it out on something. Why not - *surprise surprise* - demons?!
Daimon entered the arena of broken rubble and decaying debris, partial skeleton remains to the abandoned, fire-gutted buildings surrounding them. The spaces where windows once stood were now grotesquely shaped voids intangible to moonlight; a horrific sight, even for this demon who had seen things that would rob most people of their sanity. A haunting chill climbed up his spine - the energy was exceptionally strong tonight.
In the middle of this graveyard of buildings he stood with a wandering gaze, his eyes glazed over and white with thin streams of fire creeping through each corner, coming together until his orbs were completely engulfed by them. Incantations slithered past his lips, his elongating fingers--his claws curling firmly around the pointed trident he held, the pentagram brand illuminant at the center of his chest. He took a step forward, pointed, and everything went silent.
The wind, the trees, his heartbeat and pulse...cold, dead, unadulterated silence. His fangs flashed in a wicked grin.
"It's rude to keep your company waiting."
Whispers...fine, lilting sounds began to cut through the stillness, each murmur getting louder and stronger than the next until they overlapped each other rapidly, hissing and echoing viciously in every which direction as if trapped inside a glass globe with no other option but to ricochet off one another. Daimon waited, flames of Hell dancing up and down his three-pronged staff, some making their way up his body. He had been feeling particularly malicious today - he'd entertained the idea of killing the occupants of an entire restaurant on just a little agitation alone - and right now, there would be nothing more satisfying than hearing the sickening cries of fiendish scum to cure his own wanton thoughts.
Soon the voices started to disconnect from one another to find their owners, dark silhouettes of bodies shifting in the shadows of the broken structures like unfit puzzle pieces. They all looked like the homeless, layered in old, rotting clothing, giving him the allusion that they were actually people. Flesh and blood. But they weren't. The glowing blue eyes gave them away. They were shifters, hiding their true form inside nothing more than hollow shells. Otherwise, he might've felt a little bad about blowing his first willing particpant into smithereens, smirking without a trace of apprehension as he watched its floating remains shrivel to dust. Weak.
If this didn't turn out to be the challenge he'd hoped it be, the son of Satan was going to be sorely disappointed.
"Nice to meet you too," he clicked his tongue, twirling his trident, eyeing the several others circling him with expectant and cool regard. "Who's next?"