Climb Into The Heavens [Private]

[sangreduex]

The never ending battle between the sun and the moon had been decided once again; the pale face of lunar reign had been banished for another day and the rays of the sun spread thin over the courtyard. The silence and tranquility masked the presence of the man who'd spent his entire evening simply staring at the stars and pondering life's mysteries. He did not think himself enlightened, even after nearly a decade of growing more attune with nature and the flow of energies that made up all things yet he had learned several answers that had eluded him to begin with. He knew the limits of pain that a human body could withstand and how to deliver that negative stimulus to the entire being or just one small section of the nervous system. He knew the breadth of mental fatigue that a man could sustain before his mind would seek to retreat from reality altogether and find comfort in it's own inner realms. He knew what lengths he would go to in order to beat, slash, pummel, rend, claw, crush, eviscerate, and will himself to victory. He knew many other things as well . . . .

What he did not know, however, was how to go from being what he was to what he truly sought to be. He did not know how to become one of them; one of the beings that his temple residence was dedicated to exalting and one of those who embodied the next stage of his existence. He sought to become an Eternal. For this reason he had spent the last fortnight patiently waiting for one of them to arrive but he was nearing the end of his patience. It was rumored that this temple, a shrine to that everlasting race, was a spot that Eternals sometimes frequented yet he'd seen no sign of them or anyone else for that matters. If the stories proved to be untrue then he would destroy this place and begin his search anew elsewhere.

[Enrico Vivenzia]

“One kills a man, one is an assassin;
one kills millions, one is a conqueror;
one kills everybody, one is a god”

Bang.

His heart the percussion, her scream the chorus, his gun the bass, and everything else blurred into the rhythm and melody of struggle. Intransigence stuck down the semblance of tranquility, not unlike the bullet from the gun of Fate that burnt a hole in the page and book of existence-this abomination of decent things in the eye of one issued to prey, pursue, and purge such from the world. With this playing field of reality as the stage and the audience present, all could witness the escapades of the surreal, the theatricals of a crusade against evil, met with a force that made the colors of black and white-vermilion.

She, this Lesser Blood Vampire held on to what was left of her shoulder. The rest missing from the hissing cavity with the special slug of metal and arcane as the culprit. There were injuries elsewhere, blemish's and curses across the once immaculate flesh. Her body she used to lure the lustful, indulge in the heat of passion and happy endings, the climax being both her own and then soon the bloody aftermath of the unfortunate caught within the trap of wickedness. Once so confident, but now-for the first time since her birth into the night-fearful. The poison of presentiment boiling in the vile blood she still called her own, choking the soul she no longer had. The weigh of it was far more crippling than the exit wounds on the rest of the body, which struggled to heal but the mending was slow-futile-faint.

The night mistress limped up the stairways reaching the shrine, letting the irony of one eternally damned seeking refuge in a region of holy virtue escape her mind. Unholy strength continued to fuel her panic filled retreat, still climbing to the top faster than anyone else with similar scars could a test to, let alone live. The dripping crimson wrote her signature into the steps, the ending credits to the cinema of malefic ambitious, labored breaths-the background song.

She reached the top. Frenzied eyes searched scanned the milieu of the shrine for a myriad of things, one of them hopefully being a means of escape.

A fresh meal fell into view instead.

Yes, consume him. Regenerate. Get back into the fight.

KILL.

Footsteps.

No, she had to keep running, she couldn't stop now. The feast would come later. Thus the Lesser continued to plunge forward, sprinting in a bloody haste past the one who would be called Ruslan. Almost leaving the wind in the aftermath and the stretch of blood to tantalize later. A tear to stain the floor and a whimper to reach his ears.

This bitch is fast as hell.

Enrico Vivenzia raced with heavy breaths and fervor, a stolen combat shotgun strapped and slung around the shoulder, one of the Twin's in his hand and following the same arm pumps to add pep to his step. Dress shoes beat ragged the paved stones and empty shells left his mark where a impure woman's blood had beckoned him to. All thoughts were fixated on the single, blind object of dispatching this horror on the world. His heart and soul may have not been in the hunt, but his mind was-absolutely.

He too made it at the top. The fleeing mistress now in-

No. A direct shot was obstructed. This one idling by was in between him and the end of this game of cat and mouse. The fire arm was raised, the wielding arm thrown back. Her bloodied form zoomed in within the vision of determination and a practiced killer.

He swung his arm.

The trigger was pulled.

And

the

bullet

curved

around

Raslan.

The projectile made it's mark.

She watched the black fill her vision. She begged God for forgiveness. The longing for her mother. The demand to why she deserved this. All prayers unanswered before she met the ground and oblivion took her. Rather than a vampire, a teary eyed husk of a woman remained. Lifeless and empty.

The Church's hitman placed his hands on his knees and panted, quick, long breaths while the fire from his long sprint finally caught a hold of his senses, adrenaline now abandoning him with the deed of Fate done. His eternal blue gaze landed on the bystander. Or he hoped to be a bystander. Because vampires with backup were always a bitch to deal with. Needless to say, his trigger finger remained twitchy.

"Nice...weather huh? Great for morning jogs."

Smooth.

[Aiden Rhytek]

---so many roads, so much at stake,
A N D SOMETIMES I WONDER WHAT IT'S GONNA TAKE ?!
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There was something missing. The problem was that Aiden didn't know what that 'something' was. He'd finally gathered the courage to return to Kyoto—admittedly centuries after his father's death—but his homeland felt empty. The woods where his house had once been was now a crowded city street, bustling with zooming cars and edged with gleaming steel buildings. So the Eternal had wandered out to the countryside, where he could still pretend that it was the thirteenth century.

But being the lazy person that he was, Aiden had soon grown tired of walking, and decided to fly. Gliding over the tree-tops, he mused over the scenery as he considered what to do with the rest of the day. It was just after dawn, and Aiden supposed that there had to be something interesting around here. If worst came to worst, maybe he would terrorize a farmhouse or two.

Just as he resigned himself to a day wasted, Aiden caught glimpse of the shrine. The sight of the building nearly knocked him out of the air. Like the shrines of his childhood, this one was built in the old-style—the angular roof, the long stone pathway leading to the steps. That settled his decision. He would explore this shrine. Perhaps Aiden would even find a monk or priest inside with whom he could have an intelligent conversation for once.

Alighting on the rooftop of the shrine, Aiden noted with some interest that there was a man seated inside the inner courtard. A magus, by the feel of him. Was this some sort of training ground? In his day there had been no such refuge for the magi-gifted—Aiden had been scorned by his village first for his appearance and then for his gifts. Yet, that was so very long ago. I'm no longer bitter about that, Aiden murmured to himself, as if his own mind needed convincing. I've let go of those feelings.

Well even if he hadn't quite forgotten his alienation (you haven't, a voice whispered in his mind, and you never will) there was no one to take out his resentment on. Time passed. Aiden slept for a few days in the Endless Realms, and the mortal realm changed millennia, and Aiden was unchanged, unaging. Such was his nature, and he had learned long ago to embrace the more pleasant aspects of being an Eternal. Aiden was shaken out of this train of thought by the approachment of two more people to the shrine. He saw the first one, a woman, and his face unconciously twisted into a grimace. Vampire.

Aiden hated them. He couldn't explain why. Something about them was so primitive, so unelegant; their grace was feigned animal grace, their existence hinged on a barbaric taking of life. And this woman vampire was racing up the steps of the shrine, coming to pollute the only remnant of his past that Aiden had managed to find on his journey so far—he was about to destroy her when the magus chasing her burst into his awareness.

He watched with his curiosity piqued as the newly-arrived man stopped at the head of the stairs, taking aim with a gun. The magus already in the shrine was going to block the line of his fire, but to Aiden's very great enjoyment, the man firing curved his bullet. How fascinating. No one had used magic like that when he was a mortal. The world had changed so little in some places, and yet seemed like a different realm most other times. As the vampire crumpled to the ground and the man who had killed her bent over, exhaustion seeming to overtake him, Aiden descended from the roof.

Walking down a staircase of air, he adjusted the currents to make sure not a silky strand of his blue hair was displaced or mussed. He did have an appearance to keep up, after all.

"Nice...weather huh? Great for morning jogs." Aiden heard the newly arrived magus speak, and though the words had not been addressed to him, he deigned to answer: “Indeed, today is very nice outside. You looked as if you were doing a bit more than jogging.” Stepping onto solid earth at last, Aiden smiled, tilting his head to the side. His high ponytail fell over his shoulder, and the Eternal hoped he didn't appear too threatening. Most people never seemed to take him seriously at first, though.

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TAG: enrico, ruslan WORDS: seven hundred and thirty four NOTE: aiden is a vain little eternal
TEMPLATE CREDIT: TANA @ COSMO?!

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[sangreduex]

Eyes opened to the fresh day as the aroma of newly deadened flesh filled the air, and the gleaming orbs scanned the scene to focus on the recently arrived players. The silence had long been muddled, giving way to a cacophony of trauma and drama induced by the parasite and a fellow magus who then redirected his attentions to Ruslan. Another male, the term man perhaps not applying, had appeared as well turning the solitude of one into a slightly talkative trio. Ruslan had no dispute with his brethren for dispatching the soulless beast from its quasi-mortal coil and he had no right to deny anyone from accessing the temple, however he did object to his goal being intruded upon for the legends of the Eternals made them out to be a bunch of hermits and recluses. He was somewhat concerned that these two individuals might prevent him from coming into contact with the beings he sought and thusly he turned a cold, indifferent eye to the first one who’d spoken and then quickly continuing to the next he spoke, “A mercenary and a well dressed vagrant; are these to be my only options for conversation in this holy place?”

Obviously he wished them no ill will for the moment, they’d had no chance to affect his temper in any way yet but Ruslan was not a verbose man. Well spoken to be sure but he was parsimonious with his tête-à-tête as he only spoke with those he thought might be of some definite use to him. There had been no other visitors to this temple in all his time there and now, as his impatience matured, he was beset by a pair of veritable raconteurs. His instincts were not entirely mute in this situation- there was always a small chance that one of these two was an Eternal but having never made ones’ acquaintance there was no way for him to tell if that was the case. His eye returned to the armed newcomer and the finger which remained glued to his weapon, and for the first time that morning Ruslan’s mind turned to the opportunity to test his skills. Perhaps his mission to find one of the immortal breeds could be pushed back for a while if the man was likeminded, but there was the matter of the vagabond who’d come strolling down his ethereal steps.

“What manner of magic do you possess wind-walker? And from whence do you hail? Surely you didn’t just step off of a cloud to peruse the callisthenic routines of this hunter over there . . .”