Let's Rock [OPEN]

[Seishin Akanami]

February 10th
7:45 PM
Regal Necropolis

Well, if he was gonna go back to his home in London, he might as well check what inferis had to offer him. He had been once before, but it was long overdue since he visited the nightmares that sat hand in hand with his home. Inferis didn't change much, at least to his view. It was always accompanied by some vulgar scent, whether it be blood or ash, and it gave one a sense of unease. Over time, Seishin discarded his fears of inferis, his apathetic view on fear solidified with each demon that laid slain before his feet. Sure, he was caught off guard once in a while, but he held a mantle that held too much weight for Seishin to just die.

As he sat on the hood of a corroded BMW, the rusty metal groaning with each movement he made, he kept his 12 gauge next to him. Nothing felt more satisfying then watching silver buckshot rip through the sinews of demon flesh. His two Five Sevens were always in reach on his waist, and his chain and sickle holstered by his side. He had enough firearms to rest easy, and he didn't feel concern. Howls in the distance were triaged out of his mind. Seishin perked his ears to the sound of movement. Turning around some, the twelve gauge was snatched up into his grasped, and kept lowered. He stood in the middle of a dilapidated street, as he took a few steps forward. Sighing, he kept walking down the street, his eyes peeled for anything. The windows in all the buildings were shattered with the sharp debris littering the streets. Light poles were corroded, with some bent at awkward angles. And the sky.. The sky just made him feel uneasy. After all, this was Hell.

His feet clattered with the stone of the street, as he meandered around cars and buses. Seishin jokingly thought to himself if any of them worked, before tossing the humorous thought. The shop's windows still enticed the consumer in him, though the products were twisted and a mockery. The smell of iron was very prevalent, and blood was haphazardly spattered on walls, with a puddle of the red liquid present every now and then. blood seemed to be the main theme of this freak show, but Seishin didn't give it thought. Blood was inevitable, especially if trained in the art of war. He had no qualms about killing any demons that stood before him. It was exhilarating, and made his job easier. His wishful thinking liked him to believe that every demon dead was a blow to Princes, whoever they were..

[Vlad III Țepeș]

A sliver of bleached bone was inserted between his thin lips, wiggled up and down to remove a troublesome piece of meat lodged amidst his fangs as though it were a toothpick. The Count never understood what motivated the Succubi, the sexually depraved creatures they were, to cling to such prurient behavioral patterns. Alas, they seemed to just throw themselves in his direction like smitten teenaged girls, supposedly captivated by the Lord of the Nosferatu's handsome looks or entranced by his frosty aura of callous indifference, but he knew better. The winged harlots were widely known throughout Inferis for their deceptive natures, twisting words to take advantage of man's carnal desires before they feasted on their energy as if though they fancied themselves to be one of Drăcula's ilk. It was offensive and insulting.

So, imagine if you would, a winged buxom babe with eyes like gold doubloons and dressed in scanty clothes, attempting to make passes toward the very steward of the Entropic Chasm, who ventured into the Regal Necropolis because, incidentally, he was coming close to his threshold and needed to sate his thirst for blood. The last escapade he had with a Succubus ended on a more disappointing note, seeing as it was far less experienced than some of her kind was, and easily succumbed to a forcefully broken spinal column. Now, this one, on the other hand, put up a far better fight; in fact, it had been quite some time—say, five-hundred centuries, give or take—since the Impaler was forced to exercise against this lustful she-demon that which earned him his feared posthumous moniker. And not only did he manage to temporarily acquire her abilities and powers after consuming the insolent whore's blood, but her thighs made a satisfying late afternoon snack.

Thus, he now soared through the bloody red skies of Mammon's domain via leathery black wings, an imitation of the consumed Succubus' own flight appendages, intent on returning back to the Entropic Chasm so that he may further his efforts in establishing his authority over Belphegor's subjects until the day he woke from his thousand-year slumber. But as he whizzed through the tainted Necropolis air, breathing in the occasional bloody mist as he passed through, something caught his attention from the corner of his periphery. He focused his vision toward the Dystopian cityscape below, and as it came into vision, a grimace emerged on his stony pallor.

A filthy human was wandering the Infernal plane? He scowled beneath his breath; the thought of swooping down to eradicate the creature was there, but the analyst in him knew engaging in such a maneuver without proper inspection would be utterly reckless. With a skillful display of mastery over the wings that weren't naturally his own, Lord Drăcula gazed down at the wandering human, observing his every action with hostile intent swimming inside his cadmium yellow gaze. Musculature seemed to imply it was trained to fight close quarters, but the presence of several objects on its person—human technology, likely some variety of weapon—told a different story altogether. A warrior trained in the ways of physical combat, relying on plastic-and-metal sticks that hailed down thunder and gunpowder? How paradoxical. But the Nosferatu Lord never expected anything better from them. He was a human, after all.

As silent as a bat, Drăcula slowly descended from the sanguine-colored skies until his feet touched down against the debris-littered streets, landing several feet away from the invasive human being armed to the teeth in weaponry. He may have the advantage in terms of equipment, but there was one thing this flesh-bag did not possess: tactical superiority. For he walked amongst Demons now, stepped foot in their terrain. And unbeknownst to the man with the wild hairdo, the well-dressed vampire had support in places both high and low. As creations of Mammon, the Nosferatu subordinates with which he ruled and commanded belonged to the Necropolis, and congregated in larger numbers here. At the mere snap of his fingers, he could command a platoon of twenty of the blood-sucking fiends to arrive and tear this fool limb from limb.

But what fun would there be in simply overwhelming him with sheer numbers? Why not get stay and get to know the man? Learn his intentions, understand what motivated him to remorselessly invade Inferis and slaughter his kind as if they were entitled with some kind of disgusting privilege. In a sense, the irony of this situation made the former tyrant of Wallachia chuckle to himself. Even in undeath, he was a defender of his people, striving to push out intruders from the lands with which he ruled. "The night approaches, and comes to claims the Necropolis as her own." He spoke in English—a language he had not made use of since his visit to London back in the late 1800's—his voice carrying with it a slightly thick, Romanian accent. "Do you roam the Blood Mistress's lands with a purpose, human?"

A simple and innocent question, free of any underlying calculations or forethought. And even though the Count wished to inquire more about this despicable thing before him, he was certain that his own presence would reach out to him like a blanket of oppressiveness and malice, an atmosphere that hinted at the possibility that he had claimed the lives of countless victims in life and in death. He was no ordinary Demon, and he expected this human to realize that fact.

[Seishin Akanami]

Seishin slowly turned to face the voice. It was a man with bat like wings, silvered hair, and was well dressed for being in this undead city. Turning to face the man, Seishin's sleigh bells around his waist jingled slightly, as he  kept his shotgun lowered some. A shell was already present and ready to fire at any given moment, but he would here what this demon had to say."I didn't know I needed a purpose to walk these damned streets, Demon." Seishin felt a tightness in his chest. Looking at this man before him awoken a slight sense of fear long lost. Not to mention the man looked familiar as well. The romanian accent, the well dressed manner. He was making an assumption at this point. He found it reasonable that the certain man he was thinking of would be fit to serve Lucifer himself.

Leaning his shotgun against the corroded car next to him, he unholstered his kusarigami, purely ornate silver. An awfully fancy sickle and chain. Holding the sickle in his right hand with the chain and weight being spun in his left, he grinned at the man. "I'm guessing you're the infamous Vlad the Impaler? I mean, I'm sure even Lucifer would have a hard time with that accent, though it isn't surprising to see you here rotting." Seishin's augment kicked in at that moment, the tube running along his spine alight with blue glow. "If you really are the Lord of Bloodsuckers, then I've run into quite the prize. Other than that, you're a waste of my time."

The cars in the vicinity of Seishin started to creak and groan as if stress was being put on them. He had yet to find a challenge in hell, and here he would find it. Maybe this man would actually be able to hurt him! To face one of the most bloodthirsty men in history with his life on the line awoke some dread in him, be he only used that to fuel his determination."Maybe you'll get lucky enough and be able to impale me" Seishin was confident in his abilities, and this man would hopefully infringe on his boundaries and limits some.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

Yellow eyes remained fixed in a firm gaze on the well-muscled human male, facial features as rigid as a marble statue's while he unleashed a scalding retort in the vampire's direction. "I didn't know I needed a purpose to walk these damned streets, Demon." Such a hostile reaction. It was a typical characteristic of his species; respond to anything that appears remotely threatening with an equal or greater show of contempt. It was nothing more than a false show of bravery, a hollow attempt to cope with the presence of a force far greater than him. It almost made Drăcula want to sneer at the thought, yet he easily quashed any desire to do such, regardless of how undeniably weak he was. "And yet here you are, in the realm of the damned." His logic was sound enough. Human or otherwise, one does not simply choose to take a scenic tour of Inferis without an underlying motive to fuel their actions.

"I'm guessing you're the infamous Vlad the Impaler?" Infamous? Well, that was certainly one way to sum up the figure in front of the man with wild hair, though the Impaler himself would have preferred a far more sinister profiling. Upholding his immovable posture and expression, he brushed a ghostly hand through his platinum locks, removing them from interfering with his vision. To hear his posthumous moniker spoken by the likes of a human being almost felt... refreshing, to a certain extent. Undoubtedly, his name had been successfully preserved in the annals of human history—but those days were long behind him. Now? He was a different creature altogether. A far more dangerous one, at that. However, a compliment was still a compliment, and he would accept it with grace. "I'm thoroughly touched you know of me," An eloquent response from the Count, made with a devilish smirk and laced with a subtle form of verbal acid. "Indeed, I am... Count Drăcula."

His social niceties were once again spurned with antagonism, caked with a sort of pompousness that almost matched the vampire. "If you really are the Lord of Bloodsuckers, then I've run into quite the prize." What a racist remark. Yet the Count was somehow able to find humor in his statement. So, he believes there to be some kind of measurable worth on the very embodiment of fear itself? "Other than that, you're a waste of my time." Arrogant worm! Pretentious whelp! Filthy maggot! How his self-righteousness made his blood boil as if it were molten magma, blistering and seething and ready to burst forth like a torrent of rage. But it would not show; not externally, nor through any kind of physical or emotional cues that followed—for all intents and purposes, Drăcula was incapable of displaying such passionate emotions. He merely chuckled. "Then feel free to seek out a more worthy challenge. I will not impede your way."

Instead, this fleshy weasel's disgusting attitude and mannerisms served to reinforce the steward's internal opinions of him, and by extension the rest of mankind, in the form of a veiled threat. "Maybe you'll get lucky enough and be able to impale me." A dark chuckle escaped the Count's throat. "You intend to provoke a threat you do not fully comprehend, human." He warned, raising a finger and wagging it as if scolding a child. "And your logic is counterintuitive." He folded his hands behind his back, then flashed a grin most evil. "You claim that I squander your precious time, implicate that my abilities pale in comparison to yours—yet you openly underestimate the strengths of your foes and make veiled threats." He turned so that his back faced the creature armed to the teeth in technology, maintaining that diabolical sneer of his. "Your hostility is misplaced, nonetheless. I have done nothing to warrant such behavior."

And that was that. His logic stood: Demon or not, the Impaler had merely shown up and asked a question, and was met with needless aggression fueled by a desire to engage in combat. Overall, he was behaving rather stupidly. To attack him now—especially while his back was exposed—would only prove the Nosferatu King unquestionably right. And that in itself was a far more painful blow than any injury would ever be; it was an attack on his pride.

[Seishin Akanami]

Seishin shook his head in amusement. The odds of meeting the Count were slim to none. He made insults to his logic and reasoning for his mannerisms. Did logic truly prevail in inferis? Swinging the weighted chain softly still, he spoke up. "I don't care if you were Lucifer himself. I am always obligated to purge the unholy and damned, whether I want to or not. It is the vow I made long ago." Seishin smirked as he shrugged a little. "My confidence in my abilities is well placed. If you were any other Demon, I would have blown your head off with this little thing right here, and kept moving." Seishin gestured to the 12 gauge that leaned against the car adjacent to him.

Seishin used the momentum of the chain to let it wrap around his own arm, freeing his left hand up. Lifting his hand to his collar, Seishin fooled around a bit with the medallion on his neck. It was a paladin's amulet, passed to him by the previous owner. "I am the pinnacle of Templar might. I sit as one of the Seven Paladins. To let you leave would be an insult to my responsibilties. " letting the amulet drop, Seishin took a gander at the sickle in his hand, looking it over. "I must admit, my skin went cold when you confirmed who you were. But I don't back down. I am an example to my subordinates and the future generation." Seishin's mind was all over the place. He was still amazed that the Count had made his presence known. The man was awfully reserved.

Sighing, Seishin felt the situation had reached an impasse. Looking at the man, who had since turned around, Seishin felt slightly irritated at the man. Who knew Dracula could get under his skin, too. "As it stands, you're too much of a threat. It is my obligation to dispose of you. Though, it still was nice meeting someone famous." Seishin kept himself relaxed and ready to move at the given time. This man probably had an army of undead in the palm of his hand. Who knew what lurked in these decaying building anyway..

[Vlad III Țepeș]

"I am always obligated to purge the unholy and damned, whether I want to or not. It is the vow I made long ago." Slender fingers curled greedily into one another between folded hands as the Count steadily narrowed his gaze, lips forming into an impish sneer from outside of the tattooed and muscular human's sight. His air of self-righteousness was undoubtedly thick, but it made the steward wonder if it was all just an elaborate front; a bluff, as it were; merely a coping mechanism to mask whatever insecurities might be dwelling beneath that offensive haircut of his. Oaths meant nothing and were worth just as much unless one took the initiative to act on it. And yet, on the opposite side of this little philosophy coin, he made it sound as if though he was never given a choice to begin with.

Drăcula's wicked smile grew far more intense as he pondered on this, his distinctive fangs now bared and on full display. Oh, this creature most certainly had a choice in all aspects of his petty life, whether he was aware of it or not. He could have easily walked away from the dastardly Count—and he would have let the meatbag pass without hesitation. Yet the human chose to stay. His dogmatic perspective and contradictory logic perplexed the Count, which only made it far more absurd in the long run. But did the Nosferatu King really expect anything more from such an inferior species? "My confidence in my abilities is well placed. If you were any other Demon, I would have blown your head off with this little thing right here, and kept moving." The man made a motion to an oddly shaped stick positioned near it, the faintest trace of gunpowder emanating from its main tube. A firearm? My, how far technology has come since the day he died.

"I am the pinnacle of Templar might. I sit as one of the Seven Paladins. To let you leave would be an insult to my responsibilities." Lord Drăcula shut his eyelids and reflected on the human's latest claim, his borderline psychotic smirk fading until it was merely a shade of its former ferocity. "A loyal servant of the Church..." He murmured to himself, barely sighing from his nostrils as he finished speaking. He was one of significant influence, at that. Everything made perfect sense now. He was uncompromising, needlessly hostile, and was hardwired to enact the will of his filthy superiors with unyielding commitment to their cause. Ancient memories flickered deep within the vampire's subconscious, replaying themselves like an old motion picture. They were recollections from his past, visions from his old life as the ruler of Wallachia five centuries ago. And the more he continued to dwell on it, the deeper his anger sank, and the harder his already notorious, blackened heart became.

The Count forced himself to return to the present, and as he did so, he clenched one hand until it formed into a balled fist, clasped by the other one as if he were holding a large stone. "I must admit, my skin went cold when you confirmed who you were. But I don't back down. I am an example to my subordinates and the future generation." A sinister chortle followed the Templar's determined statement. He was in no position to assume himself an example of subordinates that were not present. "I have my doubts." Drăcula retorted swift and curtly. One plate of vampiric sarcasm, hot and fresh for the arrogant Templar Paladin and made to order. "As it stands, you're too much of a threat. It is my obligation to dispose of you." Again with the bigoted statements.

The Lord of the Nosferatu sharply turned around on his heels, pale platinum hair gently whipping in the direction he swiveled. His grin had long since vanished from existence, replaced with a frighteningly detached expression of neutrality; as if all traces of emotion were extinguished from his mind and replaced with cold, hard, unflinching, blood-curdling apathy. "Whether it is within your mind's feeble capacity to comprehend it or not, you have undoubtedly confirmed that I am far more powerful than you can possibly imagine." His unnatural eyes, yellow and devoid of any human emotion, fixated themselves onto the Templar from afar with a glint of murderous intent swimming deep inside of them.

He stepped forward once, slowly and theatrically. "You have neglected to uphold your alleged oath by failing to destroy me via numerous windows of opportunity I have graciously provided, and have thus stripped it of any and all meaning." The Count reprimanded, his tone sounding almost harsh in its nature yet still lacking the essence that would have made it come off as such. He let off an evil and arrogant smirk, narrowing his gaze into a pair of nefarious slits. "Your words are as hollow as the very skull with which they are birthed from." An archaic sort of insult, but the context would be easy enough for the Templar to understand. "You are an imbecile and a saint forged of brittle plaster. And by failing to end my life which you insist is unholy and damned, you recognize the strength I command and have admitted your insufferable weakness to me."

Another step forward, then another. The vampire's menacing glare widened ever-so-slightly as he slowly closed the distance between himself and the Paladin, doing so in perfect unison with the barely visible smirk on his ghostly visage. "Behind your mask of bravado lies fragility, mortal." Drăcula paused for a moment, briefly recalling memories of his former life before snuffing them from his thoughts. "I can taste the fear that surrounds you." By this point, the Count had already closed a third of the gap between himself and the wild-haired man with the tattoos and tons of weapons. "You cannot hide from me that which you truly desire."

"Power." The vampire's smirk evolved into a full sneer, fangs glistening in the solemn light of the Regal Necropolis as he drew his breaths with such phenomenal levels of eerie placidity that it could make one's hair stand on end. But his pointy teeth, iconic as they were to the infamous Count Drăcula, weren't the scariest part about this evil being. "You desire it. Crave it. It fuels the very ambitions you so angrily defend. It claws at your conscience as though a caged wolf, starved of its desire for freedom." It was his very mind; that which made him, without a sliver of doubt, him. "Power is what you truly seek, mortal. And such is the absolute truth with all human beings." It was the very frightening possibility that everything he spoke of; the slimmest chance that every single word that emerged from his mouth so rife with taint and sin was, in some form or another, absolutely right.

Step by step, the insidious master of the Nosferatu inched his way closer to the Templar, never once breaking his form nor stride, eyes locked on with an almost obsessive glaze buried within them. "You cling to your broken ideals, strive to meet your lofty expectations, all in the hopes that your supposed example will implant the seed of inspiration into those that follow you," He continued on. His bony fingers flexed into one another incessantly, in and out, forming a fist and then relaxing. Drăcula chuckled once more, loudly this time, indirectly informing the Templar that he found his notion to be utterly full of shit. "In time, their expectations of you will change, and when you are no longer able to fulfill what they require of you, they will cast you away and replace you and your obsolete ideals." A dark, sinister fire burned within his harrowing gaze now; now having covered two-thirds of the original distance they stood apart from each other, the closer the Count got to the Paladin, the more intense and commanding his presence became. He did not fear him or his toys—in fact, he actually expected the human to lash out at this point.

"Your cherished Order will crumble and fall, mortal, as it did in my own time. And when your bones are stripped of its flesh and dissolve into the very earth beneath your feet, none shall ever remember you or your outdated cause." At long last, after what seemed like an arduous eternity of bone-chilling suspense, the dreaded Impaler himself had finally closed the distance between him and the Templar. He now stood barely three feet away from the man with the wild haircut, seemingly unarmed and defenseless against whatever trickery he had in store for him, but literally unfazed by any of the possibilities that lurked in wait. And this very lack of fear is what made him so terrifying to all those that dared face him, the dreaded former warlord of Wallachia, whom swathed a savage and bloody campaign across the whole of Europe to remove the Ottoman Empire and all traces of corruption and sin from his kingdom, executing hundreds of thousands of lives to ensure that his ideals of a perfect society be preserved for all time.

With an unnatural glare of infernal yellow eyes and cat-like slits for pupils, the fabled lord of all vampires released one final grin, baring his signature fangs for the Templar to gaze upon however he chose to, before whispering at him once more with sadistic glee. This time, however, he eschewed the usage of his accented English, and reverted to his native tongue. Not his old Romanian, as he reserved that for those he truly felt obligated to respect. No, he chose to utilize his true dialogue, that which made him who he is now. Infernal.

"You are nothing."

[Seishin Akanami]

Seishin could feel a miasma in his thoughts and his soul. The man had confidence to back up his claims of him being a monster. He had read books when he was younger, and was no idiot. But he remained calm and collected, nonetheless. He was no different from any demon that tried to skew his thoughts and beliefs. This one was just a lot more powerful than the run of the mill zombie.

Seishin's attention peaked when the man's face came to view, having spun on his heel and giving him a look of disinterest. Had something he said caused him to turn around? A footstep ran hollow in his inner train of thoughts as step by step, the man proceeded closer and closer to his self. The unnerving presence seemed to only tighten around him, though it didn't show to the Count. His face held a look of interest, as he pondered the man's ranting about how worthless he was, and how time washed away any progress one's self had created. Those yellow eyes that stared at him reminded him of a cat, and he hated cats with a passion. The sharply dressed vampire was inching ever so close. His lips were sealed as the man was now face to face with him. Looking into the mirror like eyes, he could only give a slight grin to the man in response. "Power? Power isn't the overlying cause of suffering. It's the belief that power is used for that causes anguish." Leaning in, he smirked. "I fight for the belief of redemption and honor.I would never strike down a man with his back turned! Your beliefs killed innocent people! And that is why you roam amongst the undead!" With a soft chuckle, the cars around Seishin started groaning even louder. " All this talk coming from the person who was dealt death at the hand of a mortal. Now be redeemed!"

Out of Seishin's back came a large levitating mass of pitch black dust. The powder condensed and formed a writhing mass of tendrils that lashed forth for the man, hoping to skewer him with the blessed dust and gain some breathing room. More powder kept materializing as the volume of powder became almost daunting. Seishin used on of the tendrils to pick up his shotgun, the tendril holding it at his side, while seishin kept swinging his sickle and chain. Hopefully this beast could be contained with his power, and he had faith that it could. The mass of powder became as tall as the buildings that ran parallel to the street that they stood on, not to mention wide. The magnetic force needed to summon the large amount before him was causing light posts to warp and creak, and car frames to crumple ever so gently. Stray bits of iron filings were lingering in the air now, and the tendril holding his shotgun promptly formed into two hands, holding the shotgun as if it was being aimed and ready to fire. Seishin now had what looked like a swirling mass of fine dark debris around him, as he grinned at the demon."I fight with rational. My devotion towards my Order remains separate from my hatred for all demons! Come! Show me what Nosferatu is capable of!" Seishin gestured for him to come at him with his sickle, the chain rattling some. This was the The Magnet Paladin.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

"Power? Power isn't the overlying cause of suffering. It's the belief that power is used for that causes anguish." The vampire's grin became less intense than it had just been, yet still held itself against his bleached face. Had this fool even listened to his speech? Exactly where, in that obtusely dense head of his, did he acquire the notion that the Count had mentioned anything about power being the overall cause of suffering? His slits for pupils thinned to a needle's width. "I fight for the belief of redemption and honor. I would never strike down a man with his back turned! Your beliefs killed innocent people! And that is why you roam amongst the undead!" What utter nonsense he was prattling on about! So he fancies himself a historian, then? That he was an immediate expert on the life and reign of Count Drăcula himself? Pure garbage. "All this talk coming from the person who was dealt death at the hand of a mortal. Now be redeemed!"

A shifting, blob-like mass of black sprung from behind the human with impressive agility, molding itself into a series of fluid-like tendrils before they converged on the unquestioned sovereign of the Nosferatu. But it wasn't fast enough. With a mighty flap of the wings that sprouted from his lower back, Drăcula coolly evaded the attack as the Templar Paladin's curious ebony appendages stabbed uselessly into the space where he once stood, gliding backwards in a reverse dash maneuver. The nefarious Demon cackled proudly as he moved through the air, splaying his feet to decelerate his movement until he came to a full stop, hovering roughly two feet off the streets of the Necropolis. "The authority to judge and vindicate what you accuse of being wicked does not rest in your hands, human!" He snarled in the Infernal tongue through his evil smirk. "You are no savior. Your God does not love nor care for you. Your devotion and hatred work hand in hand. You are no better than the very creatures you swore to destroy."

With a malicious glint in his gaze, Drăcula lifted and outstretched both of his hands in a bold and blasphemous parody of the Savior, Jesus Christ. Mere seconds later, as if entirely by the Count's command, multitudes of little black forms emerged from the shadows of fallen and crumbling London architecture, pouring out of windows, doors, and every nook and cranny the Templar had ever passed his gaze over. The masses shrieked as they moved through the air, the fluttering of leathery wings blending with their cacophonous trills, a chaotic symphony. Bats. Thousands of them. And all of them flocked to their vampiric master and surrounded his body in an evil black cyclone as he grinned from behind his shield of familiars.

Of course, the Nosferatu was not stupid as the Paladin might have assumed he was. His sights took notice of the shroud of onyx toned filaments, forming streaks around the human as the metal signs, street lights and the rusted bodies of abandoned automobiles creaked and groaned. He had command over metal, it would seem. And this black dust was, in actuality, a very fine powder. How delightful. Yet unimpressive, all the same. Another dark chuckle escaped from his lungs. He was signing his own death warrant. "Better the Devil you know, then the Devil you don't."

[ INITIATE BATTLE THEME ]

A twinkle of scarlet red flickered from behind the Templar's location, yet the form it belonged to did not move. Another shortly emanated from a nearby window on the third floor of a dilapidated building. Three more of these glints surfaced, one by one, from a shadow-filled alley behind the Count himself. As every second passed, more of these flickers of red—which, upon closer inspection, would reveal themselves to be the eyes of very hungry Demons—until the Paladin found himself being watched by roughly twenty creatures, obscured within the darkness of the Necropolis as if awaiting some kind of command from the Impaler, until the apex of all vampires slowly raised his fingers, touching the middle one and thumb together until he let them create a resonating, spine-tingling, hair-raising snap.

The twenty pairs of eyes slowly emerged into the grisly light of Mammon's kingdom, revealing the faces that they belonged to. Visages most hideous and gruesome, a twisted mockery of the looks of a human, yet far more savage and bestial than any man. Pointed ears and nose, craniums that lacked any hair, and nails protruding from their fingertips like razor sharp knives. All of them were dressed in rather expensive looking apparel that denoted Victorian influence, yet the way they clambered and crawled their way out of the shadows spoke a different story altogether. They were feral, savage, and entirely animalistic in every way, in spite of their human-like shapes. And they thirsted for the blood of this Templar scum that dared step foot in their lands.

They were Nosferatu, twenty in number. Both he and Drăcula were surrounded from top to bottom, yet these lesser vampires' scarlet eyes were all locked on one presence, and one only. And they were just dying to sink their fangs into to it. All the Count had to do is give the order, and they would pounce into action.

[Seishin Akanami]

Seishin wasn't surprised that the man had dodged his attack. This was no mere demon. He didn't even seem like a demon. When a demon came to mind, attributes attributed to monsters and unsightly creatures came to mind. The being that stood before him was nothing like that. He wasn't a rotting cadaver who had locomotion. He wasn't driven by some primal directive to hunt for warm flesh. This man was cold and calculating. Giving a slight grunt of curiosity, he watched with focus as the man hovered above the time withered street. He didn't anticipate the man being able to fly, so he would have to prod at the man's abilities. Seishin's abilities made versatility simple on the fly, and could easily go from close combat to long- range, and the middle ground. Of course, going headstrong into a man who had a reputation of putting thousands to the stake was suicidal at best.

Seishin kept his powder constantly ready to move at a moments notice. Seishin was a little take back at the drove of bats that began to encircle and shield the lord of darkness. He thought about what the man spoke about God, but he remained silent. To deviate his train of thought away from combat and at philosophy would give the Count a chance to tear him asunder. As he used his powder to prepare and fire the shotgun on the beast, he froze up at the ruby like eyes that started to show their presence around them. He could see the ones in front of him and they reminded him of a laser pointer. He also assumed that there were more behind him. But to look back would be a fallacy. His eyes center back on the man's hand, a snap echoing down the ancient street as humanoid creatures slowly scampered acrossed the buildings and took up position around them. His eyes quickly looked side to side, his head remaining still, as he took a deep breath in, and exhaled, his eyes focused on the Head Vampire, as his eyes had glazed over with determination. This man would fully understand why he was one of the deadliest templars to grace the order. "To make assumptions about God is arrogant! But I'll show you why I am one of the deadliest warriors to be a Templar! To say I have the right to judge is hypocritical. We are the ones that are judged!" Seishin kept his eyes locked on the night lord as he point his sickle at him, his hand clenching the handle. "I am excited to test myself against you. You better stay vigilant!" Seishin's lips curled to a grin of satisfaction. This was the battle he was searching for this whole time. "I am Seishin Akanami, The Magnet Paladin! Let's dance, Count!"

At that moment, a tendril sprung into action, it's movement quick and fluid, as it latched onto the nearby automobile. It easily tore off the door, rust flaking off in the process, the metal shearing and screeching. The tendril didn't stop, using its momentum to hurl the metal contraption like a disc at the count and his bats like a hurtling train. The tendril holding the shotgun aimed it at the nearest trog-like horror, as a flash of gunpowder illuminated the street for a brief second, the resonating roar of the twelve gauge echoing in the street. Hopefully the silver buckshot would eviscerated the creature his aim had been set on. Seishin during the mean time kept his stance, ready to bifurcate one of the freaks that got too close, the glinting silver weapon a stark contrast to the deep crimson and black setting. He made the powder holding the shotgun rack the pump, as the smell of gunpowder breached his nostrils. The plink of the red shell was heard as it fell to the earth. By his count, he had seven more before reload. He would just have to stay on his toes, as he remained surrounded by a protective veil of blessed magnetic powder, just in case. Seishin was enthusiated to see what this man had in store for him.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

The villainous vampire's expression degraded into one of complete neutrality now, fixated obsessively on the Templar's muscular figure, taking mental note of the fiery passion that swelled and smoldered inside his gaze like hot coals and the arrogant grin plastered over his lips. He still believed himself to be the superior foe, even when faced with such overwhelming odds? Either he was remarkably courageous, or he was invariably suicidal. But his bravado and overly Catholic viewpoint on things failed to change anyone's opinions of him, least of all the Count. All that came pouring from his mouth were words caked with jingoist ignorance, subliminally implanted into his thoughts by the very Order he devoted his entire life to. And no amount of persuasion from the Nosferatu ruler would change his hollow ways.

But talk, as they say, was cheap.

Snap. The click of Lord Drăcula's fingertips echoed sharply throughout the Necropolis, followed seconds after by the primal howls and screams of the twenty Nosferatu under his sway, as if the mere act of snapping his fingers had been a command on its own, given as a signal for them to do what they did best: allow their Demonic intuition to take control and tear the foolish Paladin limb from limb. The bald, ugly creatures snarled and riled themselves into a feeding frenzy as though they were a pack of hungry sharks, the ones on the ground strafing and creeping around the ruined London streets as they observed their prey with a savage form of caution.

And the wild-haired man would be the first to make a move, subconsciously ordering one of the tendril-like appendages to forcibly rip a door from the rusted body of a defunct automobile and off its hinges, flinging the slab of metal as though it were a disc straight at the king of all vampires, even though his form had been shielded and obscured by the great flock of bats that had been called to him at will. His chiropteran familiars were quick to spread themselves apart, exposing Drăcula's form as the door rapidly flew through the diseased air, but in an impressive display of strength and reflex that only a Demon could exercise, he had merely lifted an arm forward until the object made fierce contact with his palm and fingers, where its advance was near-instantaneously stopped by sheer physical might, leaving the strongest of all Nosferatu casually holding onto the door that had just been thrown at him with the force of a moving vehicle. A trivial feat, really; now, if he were a Taurus Demon, it would have been a different issue altogether.

One of Drăcula's vampiric servants emitted a harsh shriek from the pit of its gut as the strange collection of plastic and metal was aimed with the hole end facing toward it; recognizing the object as a visible threat, the lesser Nosferatu pushed itself away from the human and was able to escape certain death as it let loose a thunderous bang and a flash of light, scattering the area behind where it once stood with numerous holes from the single shell it had just fired. A modern firearm? From behind his mammalian barrier, the Count briefly chuckled. It would only be a matter of time before the human ran out of ammunition, yet he wasn't careless enough to assume victory just yet. A successful strategist weighed every aspect of a battle before he made the final assessment. And the fight had only just begun.

Of the twenty Necropolis vampires that stalked and prowled about, ready to strike at any moment, two of them took the chance to rush the Templar from the front. One of them approached from the right, and the other took the left. Both of them converged on the human's position without fear of whatever skills or arsenal he had at his disposal. If they were to die for their master, Lord Drăcula, then so be it. They were little more than stepping stones in his grand scheme, and they would see to it that his will be done.

Finally, a third Nosferatu, positioned several feet away from the Paladin and behind him, swiftly darted forward with the gait of a sprinting cheetah, more evidence of its distinctive lack of human characteristics, as it finally leaped forward in an effort to tackle the human while his attention was distracted on the two that threatened him from the front, aiming on stabbing its knife-like nails and fangs deep into his flesh.

With three Nosferatu closing in on the Magnet Paladin, and seventeen more waiting on the sidelines, the dastardly vampire lord merely watched as events unfolded from a distance, his hand still clenched around the car door that was lobbed at him at an earlier point. The fool was cocksure of his technique and prowess, and felt himself certain that he could destroy the very figure that sent hundreds of thousands of criminals and Ottoman sympathizers to the stake and purged Wallachia of the corruption that had once stained its soil. And who was to say that he might even succeed in achieving his goal?

For all this ignorant cretin knew, Count Drăcula was merely just another Demon, albeit one with far more influence than the common lot.

[Seishin Akanami]

Seishin could only hum in thought, as he watched the bats spread apart like a fissure to reveal the occupant inside. The door appeared to have hit it's mark, but he found it strange that it just hovered there. Upon closer inspection, Seishin furrowed his brow, his face drained of excitement and refilled with indifference. It was mostly his fault for assuming that a rusted piece of garbage would be able to even knick the being, but for now, he would need to prod this man's abilities with a very long stick. Seishin paced back in forth in his mind, determining the next course of action.

The Count had ordered the pale beings to begin their hunt, they prowled and waited for their turn. Seisin looked at where he shot the twelve gauge, noticing how the wall was devoid of fresh blood and muscle. It had seemed he had missed. Taking note of the lesser vampire's speed and agility, he knew that taking on the Count would have to be secondary for now. With the nosferatu there, he would be at a disadvantage to fight.  His gaze was averted however to the two nosferatu making their first attack. Two were in his field of vision. Facing two in close quarters would be a hassle, and he would need to kill them both. Withdrawing a canister, Seishin quickly pulled the pin and primed it. With a toss, it landed a few meters before him, the creatures coming even closer. Seishin hoped it would detonate in time. Seishin's worryw were assailed when he heard a click, the canister detonating with rigid force. Succeeding the detonation was a plume of black powder, a cloud of dust being dispersed across the area.  If the nosferatu were able to dodge such a fast force, they were lucky. Seishin's magnetic field quickly took use of the new powder that the demons had stumbled into and used it to snare the beasts by their necks, arms and legs. The magnetic noose around the beings neck tightened and tightened, until their heads fell off their torsos. Having averted that crisis, Seishin didn't get enough room to breath.

The rustling of glass behind him alerted him to a presence directly behind him. Turning around, Seishin had little time to bring up his chain and sickle. Bringing it up, he parried the beast's claws, though the momentum sent him on his back. Landing on the hard glass riddled pavement, he grunted in discomfort as the debris dug into his back. With no time to waste, he used his feet to flip the beast over him. He quickly used his agility to spring himself around, swinging the chain and sickle up and over. Sailing through the air, the blade sunk right into the beast's face, the flesh sizzling against the silver.

Steadying himself, he pulled the sickle towards himself with the chain, a wet pop echoing as the blade dislodged from the creatures head. He could feel pieces of glass and rock stuck in his back, but his pain was manageable. Looking at the Count, his face remained serious. "Impressive. It seems I'm gonna have to kick it up a notch." Seishin rolled his neck some as the mass of powder began to rapidly expand, towering up the sides of the buildings. Dust began to gently sprinkle down in the streets and rooftops, and any lesser demon would have an irritating time with the holy particles. "This is not a fight for God. This is a fight for myself." the veil of powder now was quite monstruous, and casted a shadow among the buildings and streets. No ordinary Templar would stand a chance against this demon. For everyone's safety, he had to bring him down.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

Drăcula watched on from behind his curtain of bat familiars with a glaze of mild boredom in his yellow eyes, studying the human warrior's movements and strategies as his Nosferatu minions took care of business. He caught a glimpse of the metal canister that had been released from somewhere on his person, and narrowed his gaze as soon as it exploded and birthed forth additional quantities of the strange powdery substance that freely drifted through the air. With an aura of indifference, the Count merely blinked as the two vampires that tried to charge the Paladin from the front were swept off their feet and constricted by black tentacles before their heads were popped from their necks like a child would to a dandelion. Their bodies were discarded to the streets as fountains of blood sprayed and pumped forth until their dying hearts ceased to beat any further.

The last of the attacking bloodsuckers seemed to fare much better than its recently slain comrades, and had succeeded in pushing the Templar to his backside, but as soon as the human was able to recover before the Nosferatu had the chance to imitate him, its life was immediately terminated as soon as his glistening sickle was cast overhead until the pointed end dug its way straight and clean into its skull. A hideous death wail erupted from its throat as it thrashed about until the curved blade was retracted with a grisly combination of a squelch and a crack, leaving the Nosferatu to quickly slip into the arms of Death.

Even from the distance with which he hovered away from the flesh-bag, Drăcula could smell the blood that seeped from his flesh, drawn not by his servants, but by the shards of glass and the rubble that littered the Necropolis avenues. A superficial wound, but nevertheless an effective one. So even the self-proclaimed pinnacle of Templar might could shed his precious liquid rubies? Where did all of that confidence suddenly go?

The Count's vampiric soldiers hissed and snarled as the cloud of black dust dispersed itself, wider and taller, until it covered a bigger area than it had before. There was something about the substance they could not understand on a complex level, but at their very core, it was something to be despised. It carried taint, an ambience that was not of the Demonic fold. While it did not directly harm them for the moment being, its mere presence was enough to make their blood curdle and seethe with primal rage. Even the Lord of the Nosferatu himself could detect a foul sort of aura being exuded by this powder; his opinions of the substance changed from curious to affronted. Unlike his servants of lesser strength and equally questionable mental faculty, he knew exactly what was being projected from this dust. It was the same presence that revealed itself during Lucifer's little congregate several days back. It was the presence of the Host.

How disgusting. Then again, he did state he belonged with the Bible thumping Templar Order; in fact, he was one of its very leaders. To expect anything less than blessed equipment would have been a foolish assumption. Without so much as twitching an eyebrow at his recent discovery, Drăcula curled his left arm until it sat at a ninety degree angle, then flamboyantly threw it forward. A small cluster of his swirling shield of bats broke off from the rest of the congregation and darted through the black dust blanket and toward the Paladin, zeroing in until they were able to swarm around him like the pests they were. A diversionary tactic, made to present his minions an opportunity to strike while his attention was occupied on the shrieking winged mammals.

One of the Nosferatu that lurked in a nearby building, stationed several meters away from the Paladin, had emerged from the third story window it had been formerly lurking inside, literally crawling down the notched and cracked surface as though it were a spider before it made the decision to leap ferociously from the building, aiming to slam down onto the Templar commander and impale him through the shoulders with its razor sharp nails. Within that same period of time, another one of the Count's lackeys had moved in from the Templar's right side and pounced onto the body of the rusted automobile that now lacked its door, then lunged for the human while its vampiric compatriot descended through the air.

If he wanted to step things up, this piece of human trash had better be prepared to live up to his word.

[Seishin Akanami]

Seishin was becoming a little annoyed by the howls and snarls from these abyssmal beings. They were of lower functioning, but still deadly in their own right. They would charge head first into death if their master ordered it. They had absolute loyalty. Good for them.

Seishin holstered his sickle as now a transparent, but still visible magnetic field began to encompass the area. The cloud of dust all converged on the focal point, being Seishin, and with extreme force, it radiated and swamped the street. Sweeping tendrils scarred and fissured the streets. The buildings were hacked at and some of the older structures began to sag and crumble, beams holding up awnings either being swamped by extreme force or sliced in half. Automobiles were tossed aside as if they were a child's toy, destroying windows and the like. In a 360 degrees of influence, The powder either tossed aside, immolated with blessed iron, or ripped to shreds.

Any nosferatu that even thought about hanging around two long would be recycled back into the flow of soul energy. Seishin's ability could be fine tuned to the highest extent. He could pick up a pen and write a letter with it, or he could outright annihilate, whether it be with a death grip; strangling his foes, or forming wicked edges and points. The creativity was the limit. Seishin watched with indifference as the bats could only shriek and chirp at their demise, as they were torn apart in the swirling maelstrom of iron. With the powder writhing viciously around him, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I would imagine calling other vampires and bats to your aid isn't the only thing up your sleeve. Would you care to demonstrate any others? I thought you would be the main attraction!"

The powder began to slow down a bit, but its presence around Seishin was monstrous. He hadn't released this much energy in a while, and he hoped that he would get to tango with more than a few vampires.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

The nefarious Count blinked slowly as the dying shrieks of his bat familiars rang out into the Necropolis as the tattooed Paladin, through means of his own mind, gerrymandered the mysterious black powder that hung in the air to rip the chiropteran cluster to absolute shreds, creating nothing but a fine scarlet mist in the process. The airborne Nosferatu was unfortunately exposed to the same fate, as was the one that tried to lunge at the Templar from atop the ruined vehicle, releasing savage howls before their bodies were ripped asunder by the sand-like substance as it effortlessly converted two of the Impaler's servants into a couple of short-lived bursts of blood and liquefied innards.

By Drăcula's count, the human filth had managed to destroy five of his Nosferatu, but of the Demons he vanquished one of them succeeded in perforating his defenses, even if it was for just a brief moment. Behind his swirling maelstrom of bats he grinned darkly, daggers for eyes locked onto his prey in an evil, penetrating stare. The Templar was definitely more skilled than he expected him to be, but alas, a human could only do so much when under pressure. How long would it take for him to exhaust all of his stamina, physical and spiritual, until he finally cracked?

Three more of Vlad's bald-headed minions emerged from behind their master in four-legged gaits, indicative of their true nature as bloodthirsty savages, letting out feral snarls as they zeroed in their sights on the human. Animals, that's all they were. And yet it seemed as though the self-proclaimed "servant of God" wasn't satisfied with the exercise he was being given, and so generously at that. Both uncivilized and ungrateful? Only more evidence to prove how primitive of a species his kind was. Why he even bothered to engage in conversation with this brute was beyond the Count.

From behind his swirling black maelstrom of winged familiars, he mentally assessed the information that was currently out in the open. As things stood, this hound of the Church possessed a reasonable advantage over him; his control over the ebony filaments that lingered all over and around the Necropolis—the collective mass hovered in the air, snaked into all the cracks and pooled into any hole it could find, all in a means to prevent the Impaler or his familiars and servants from breaching his area of influence. His limits in terms of creativity were undoubtedly broad in their scope... But what would happen if the Count stole from him that which gave him his edge?

"I would imagine calling other vampires and bats to your aid isn't the only thing up your sleeve. Would you care to demonstrate any others? I thought you would be the main attraction!" Bone white fangs glistened from behind the swirling maelstrom of bats, cadmium yellow eyes locked onto the human in a penetrating stare. He was hoping—no, he had expected—that the stately Demon would simply dive in with reckless abandon. But he was deluding himself for leaning on such a ridiculous notion. Drăcula was no fool. "In the game of chess, it is the pawns that always make the first move," A dark chuckle escaped from the bottom of the vampire's throat. His protective shield of bats pulsed as their master slowly ascended higher, turning to face a great and mighty silhouette jutting out of the ground, towering its way to the heights of Inferis and beyond the clouds, the Devil Spire, then back to the human. "And whether or not your feeble brain can comprehend such, you and the rest of your pathetic Order are merely pawns for something far greater than you can possibly imagine."

Without warning, each and every one of the Nosferatu that infected the streets of Mammon's realm had slowly begun to crawl or scurry away from the Templar Paladin as if they were issued a nonverbal command by their lord and master, growling or glaring at the human with that same murderous intent that they harbored upon their being summoned to try and destroy him, either slinking back into the shadows of the abandoned buildings or darting off somewhere else. The Impaler clenched his fists next, and in that instant his spherical barrier of bats had simply up and dispersed in every possible direction until none remained, revealing the steward's form and the outstretched wings copied from the blood of the Succubus he consumed earlier.

With a condescending glaze in his hate-filled eyes, Drăcula chuckled one last time. "We will meet again, Templar dog. Relish this moment while it still holds meaning, for I have gained so much more than you have tonight." As he turned around to speed off toward the tainted clouds of Inferis, he issued a harrowing, sadistic laughter that likely would not have fazed the human, but would have undoubtedly sent the message that far more had transpired than just a few minutes of light skirmishing between the two of them. Little did the wild-haired man know, Vlad was merely gauging his strength as one of the Templar Order's seven leaders, and he certainly did well enough to defend his worthless title. Not that it mattered, really, since all it did was help the Count judge his strengths and weaknesses—all it took were a few measly sacrifices, nothing too vital or drastic.

The next time they meet, however, the Magnet Paladin won't be so cocky like he was tonight. Lord Drăcula would personally see to it that the next time they ran into one another, he would mercilessly crush this piece of scum beneath the heel of his boot.

[ DRĂCULA EXIT ]

---

[ Player's Notes: Yeah, sorry this post took me so long to cough out. My muse for this thread's literally dry, so I'm gonna just leave it. A thousand apologies for not making it last for crap. ¬ ___ ¬ ]

[Seishin Akanami]

Seishin kept his gaze locked on the man. He had no intentions of moving from his spot then? The cloud of filaments seemed to beckon for the Count, as it stood fast. He listened closely to the Count, stating he had gained something from this measly confrontation. He raised a brow at what he could have gained. He knew a few dead nosferatu meant nothing to this man. It was the same thing Templars did. Send in a few soldiers against a newly discovered threat, and their battle performance will display the strengths and weakness of the enemy. Seishin just realized he was being prodded with a long stick. Maybe it was stupid for him to give his rank and title..

Seishin cursed at his utter lack of intelligence. Maybe his own mind was filled with bliss at the thought of a worthy enemy. Seishin was apart of an Order, and he couldn't shun responsibility and rampage through hell without solid reason. Did he really forgo strategy for utter bloodshed and pride? Seishin swung his head around at the collective snarls of the nosferatu, as they began to back away. So this was all he intended to throw at him? Seishin was somewhat surprised at the wings the vampire had. As the powder began to cease movement, he quickly grabbed his shotgun and shouldered it. "Next time we meet, one of us won't be leaving." Turning his back, he continued to walk through the bloodstained streets. The Count was going to prove to be a real threat in the near future. That was for certain.

[EXIT]

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