01● Trarre ispirazione da disperazione | Open, Gaius

[D'Angelo]

Janurary 13th, 2012
Regal Necropolis
The Prelude




Sanguine red spilled over into the skies, painting its canvas a dense crimson as blood rained down from its firmament. A monstrous, horrendous reflection of its human counterpart; a beauty soon lost in the annals of Hell itself. Swallowed, its appeal shrink and soon diminished into nothing more than a shelter from the lesser demons that scurried through the abandoned streets. They sought their next meal, but unknowingly, they were but prey for another, a stronger beast that skulked the same corners. This wrecked reflection of London had lost all hope, yet a new salvation manifested in the form of an enlightened eradicator—in the name of god, this place would be cleansed.

Quiet, save for the snarls and groans of the departed and condemned, Regal Necropolis remained steadfast in its solitude. Guarded and governed by the mighty Archdemon that guided this sick, twisted world from her palace, the demons dreaded little; not even the holy Templars and the established Demon Hunters. Nonetheless, on this day, a new breed of predator subverted the quadrant, a breed that hadn’t seen the face of the putrid Big Ben in over thirty years. D’Angelo had resurfaced, and his prey, already on the brink of destruction.

Four, dense, swift breezes disrupted the natural flow of the wind in Necropolis as loud, deafening snarls echoed throughout the interior of the forgotten city. Crawling out of the shadows and scurrying along the cracked and cragged boulevards, a demon continued to screech in pain; a lone shadow soon stalking from behind.

Foam escaped from its thin lips and from in-between its sharp fangs as grisly coral spilled from its body, several entry wounds allowing its oddly-colored blood to lead a trial to its location. Bruised, battered and crippled, the demon attempted its best to escape, nonetheless, its efforts would fall short of success and turning around to see if its trial had met no opposition, he emerged, a grin plastered around his face.

“May you find peace anew, in the name of the Holy Father, I bathe your soul.” It was over.



One…two…three shells of condensed, solidified energy erupted from the barrel of an enlarged revolver, its chamber revolving swiftly as the spheres of blue squeezed against the demon’s vessel, tossing it afar, leaving it dead in the streets.

Resting on the floor, bleeding out into the crevasses of the split concrete, the demon drew its last breath, meanwhile, D’Angelo approached. Flicking Espiatorio aside, its chambers opened and as he ran his palm over its surface, several blue entities took the place of the empty slots. Sighing and closing it with an equal smooth riffle, the long nose was once again aimed at the chest cavity of the now contorted creature.


“Almighty, Everlasting God, who hast dominion over the living and the dead, and showest mercy unto all whom Thou knowest will be Thine by faith and works: we humbly beseech Thee that they for whom we have resolved to pour forth our prayers, whether this present world still detain them in the flesh, or the world to come hath already received them stripped of their bodies, may, by the grace of Thy fatherly love, and through the intercession of all the Saints, obtain the remission of all their sins. Through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Against the words of God, a prayer preached for the jilted, six final rounds were implanted into the ghoul, ending its existence so that it may find peace, reincarnated if so fortunate. The energy used to forge the bullets soon dissolved and “smoke” lifted from the nose of demon-forged weapon, D’Angelo turned, whispering one final word of penance for the foul creature before walking off into the distance, leaving its body to rot and its spirit to find closure.

That wasn’t her, He mused, walking in the absence of other but accompanied by though, the Demon continued into the trenches of the city.

Garbed in a rather adventurous ensemble, consisting of navy blue and golden trimming, his lush, long red mane was guarded by an impressive, kingly hat. A face fit only for the most attractive, peaked with a finely clipped goatee as wired-frame glasses extended the sight from crimson eyes and a theatric mask covering but a fragment of his face. A demon whose sole purpose rested in the slaying of his kin, D’Angelo walked without companions, without remorse, but with all the belief and confidences in the celestial Shepard. God worked his wonders in the most mysterious of ways, and the stoic wanderer knew this.

Placing Espiatorio back into her hoister, D’Angelo made haste towards the chambers of the damned princess that ruled over these lands. She was a target he had quite the sight on for some time and finally in her dominion, he could act accordingly. Attuned to his surroundings and mapping his location to the tee, the Demon-slaying Demon continued on his campaign—his pilgrimage which would hopefully lead him back into the light—into the arms of his Father and his savior.

[Gaius Octavian Skipio]

"NO!" Gaius's voice rang out over the Necropolis's dusty streets, echoing about the murky building and filling the vast emptiness that was this realm. Though in all honesty it was far from empty considering it was virtually teeming with demons of various types. Though few if any approached him anymore, they ether feared what he would do to them or... Or what their mistress would have done to them. It was odd, but owing that creature a service may have made his life easier at least for the time being. After all he didn't have to fight for his survival at every corner nor did he need fear that he would be jumped in his sleep. It took so much stress from his shoulders and he hated it.

He could feel him self growing softer by the moment because he KNEW that none would attack him for no better reason then that they could and that it was in their nature. He wanted to fight. He wanted to battle. He wanted to kill and be killed. He wanted to live in the way he knew how, he wanted to FEEL. But no even that was taken from him by his current and cruel mistress... Master... What ever.

The echo faded and he turned his attention back to the world about him and the deep crimson that had painted the walls of his prison oh so suddenly. It was cruel fate that he should be bound here by words that had been forced from his mouth, but spoke them he had and it was in fact no ones fault but his own. His feet carried him through the streets of the place that was his current home and he had to wonder if he would die here among the creatures of blood and pain that made this place their residence. It would be an ignoble fate for sure but was it one he deserved?

After all he had been a fool and had let him self fall into an obvious trap for no better reason then that he hadn't been paying attention. Their had been signs after all, signs that he would have seen if he had not been so sure of himself. With a sigh he trudged on his feet carrying him randomly about the land he would come to know well in the passing weeks. His sandal shod feet clacked loudly on the cobble stone streets, louder then by any right they should have proclaiming his approach to any that cared to listen.

Standing over six feet tall and covered in deep red tattoos of unknown meaning that Roman made an intimidating sight even if he was mostly unclothed aside from his dark warriors skirt and rough leather shoulder pads. Most lesser beasts would not have approached him even with out the 'protection' of Mammon. He turned a corner and saw a figure he did not know. A figure he had never seen before, a figure that he felt certain was not some sort of lesser mindless demon. Would he... It run from him as the others did? Or would he stand his ground like none had done in far too long.

"Hail! Who moves there?" Simple words from a simple man, though he had to wonder if he would need to fight soon. He stood ready for that eventuality.

[D'Angelo]

This glorious hellhole of despair had left the Demon with a singular, almost mind-probing lasting impression. He never wanted to fucking come here again.

It was dirty, and seething with the very contamination he vowed to dismiss and cleanse. This infectious virus that plagued so many and ruined so many souls; Sin. Stronger than the deadliest of ailments or diseases and just as seductive as a woman’s touch; it lurked around every corner and all were susceptible to its appeal, even children. In truth, it was disgusting to even realize that he, himself was but another accommodator of Sin, one of the millions, if not billions of souls tortured by a single, misguided decision that left him lifeless and stripped of humility. He would make Sin pay; he would force it to suffer as it made him.

Pacing through the streets, careful to not alarm the encroaching specters that prowled the density of the city, D’Angelo found his ears perking and his trigger-finger twitching. I’m being followed, so perceptive was the man arrayed in navy blue as he continued to walk forward, aware of the impending steps, but wise enough to keep his curiosity concealed. Espiatorio tucked beneath the protection of his coat, he knew its appearance would come as a surprise if needed, and while not overly worried about his wellbeing, death , again, would surely hinder his ability to carry out his accrual and righteous purge.

It wasn’t until a strong, almost commanding voice drew breath that the Hunter’s suspicions were confirmed and his paranoia receded. His steps soon came to a complete stop, and momentarily, he bothered not to turn; but instead, he gathered his thoughts as quick as the breeze that wafted through the corridors of this damned city.

Over his shoulder, his head turned to face the source of this new voice. In the process, his brow elevated and his face took on a more muddled feature. “I don’t divulge such information to strangers… but I’ll be glad to take your name, good sir.” spoken in the traditional tongue of the jilted, demonic dialogue spilled into the air. Meanwhile and insouciantly did his right hand drop to his side, while his other lifted and perched just above his eyes.

Odd. This man’s choice in attire was all but concealing and revealed far more than D’Angelo favored seeing or imaging. Nonetheless, the stench was as clear as the morning sun and his aura favored that of his own—this man was a Demon. As such, he was an enemy until deemed otherwise. For the time being, interrogation would have to suffice and sustain his patience as the crimson-haired warrior readied himself mentally for what would ensue soon enough.

[Gaius Octavian Skipio]

This man was dressed... Like a ponce. There was no other word for it and if their was well it was not needed in the slightest. Ponce was just to apt a description , though he would admit to him self and only him self that he was a tad envious of that majestic hat the man wore. It was just so... Daring and he couldn't help but admire it, though he felt that the rest of the ensemble was more then slightly ridiculous. He stopped in his tracks then, his words seeming to sit heavy in the air as the man in front of his seemed to appraise him.

“I don’t divulge such information to strangers… but I’ll be glad to take your name, good sir.” His eyes narrowed and with a shrug he crossed his arms watching as the man placed his hand on the gun at his hip.That if nothing else warranted him taking a more guarded stance. "Name? Well if you're too high and mighty to share yours then i don't think i can share mine on base principle."

If the man made a threatening move he was ready to shift, ready to fight and kill if necessary though he hoped it was not. After all all he wanted from this was a few words with someone who wouldn't just... Run. But he was in a world filled with demons and demons where not best known for holding polite conversations. That was mostly the domain of man, though their where a select few of his kind that could and often wanted to converse... If only over a meal.

[D'Angelo]

“Please, don’t confuse your assumed perception of vanity with my concern.” While not the most mannerly means of expression, D’Angelo did well to fill the air with some form of clarity. In a world filled with marauders, everyone was prey—even the strong and especially the weak. Given his chosen lifestyle, D’Angelo knew for the better part of his experiences, he had developed enemies of all sorts over every sphere—every spire and every crevice that Hell sheltered. While not the words used by civil souls on earth, these were but words spoken from a man who had lived a rather dangerous life and suspicious tendencies, to him, everyone was guilty until proven innocent—himself included.

As he clenched the grip of Espiatorio, D’Angelo could see where this would stir ambiguity in the eyes of those who watched. However, it was a protective manner that he would rather have than civility at the moment. The man before him dressed in such odd wears that it put him at discomfort. Garbs he had only seen in books and scrolls, it appeared to be ancient Greek in nature—no, Roman. The times before his crusades and the ultimate despoils of the Lord himself, Jesus, this alone brought a subtle ache to his heart. If this man donned such robes, then he obviously must have lived during, or if anything, around that time frame. This pale-skinned visceral existed in the era of unbroken sorrow and diminished faith.

Lighting another cigarette competently with the use of a single hand (his free one), D’Angelo audibly remained silent. It wasn’t until several tendrils of smoke ascended and dissipated that he bothered speaking. “Tell me, good sir. Does this make you uneasy?” Flicking the slit in his coat aside, allowing the tail to dance behind him, D’Angelo willingly showcased the cased steel that had slain so many demons prior. “Does me showing you this make you anxious?” As the coat’s ends soon flapped back down, D’Angelo’s hand stayed prompted upon its grip, allowing only the handle to display for the witnessing man to perceive.

Almost baiting the opposition, D’Angelo knew from the stench alone that this was a demon. While he normally didn’t attack without being provoked, something placed him on the edge. He wasn’t like any demon he had faced before—he seemed somewhat stronger—and held a bloodthirstiness that was common in his epoch of life. If this alone wasn’t enough, He seemed well prepared to defend himself if the crimson-haired Demon decided to implicate Espiatorio’s usefulness on the battlefield. Interesting it was, to say the very, very least.


"My name is D'Angelo Courtese. Now your name, good sir?"

[Gaius Octavian Skipio]

It was said that you should never judge a book by its cover, that whats outside is often not often a reflection of what could be inside. That may have been true, but people and more importantly demons where not books in any way shape for form. Gaius had found that judging one based on their outside appearance was often a prudent thing to do in hell, for if they looked like a blood thirsty savage they more than likely where a blood thirsty savage. After all how pretty could someones spirit be if they where covered in the gore and blood of an uncounted number of people? But in times like this, it was often harder to tell... Because this demon(He could smell the stench of the pit on him) was dressed like someone who was more fool then warrior.

But that he knew may have been the reason behind this unknown mans foppish attire, to throw would be enemies off their game right before the final confrontation. It was half the reason he was dressed the way he was currently, so that they would see what appeared to be a half naked man with little or nothing to defend him self with. In fact it had caused some to under estimate him and for that reason alone he had been able to walk away with his life.

His ashen skin was shown in ghostly continence as the rays of the sun continued to play over him, causing the dark red of his tattoos, his sins made manifest to show in all their ghastly detail. Each line of color representing a different facet of his unrighteousness, each a marker of his shame and humiliation. But like many before him, he wore his marks with pride knowing to do anything less would be to dishonor not only his name but those of his long dead family. his eyes watched as the man clenched his fist over the handle of his weapon, a fire arm of rather unique design or so it seemed from where he was standing. To most, it would have made them uneasy, nervousness would have overcome them but not Gaius. For he had faced weapons far more potent then that and lived.

“Tell me, good sir. Does this make you uneasy?”

A faint smile came to his lips at those words, and his eyes lite with what could only be an odd sort of humor.

“Does me showing you this make you anxious?”

With that he threw back his head and let out a guttural is jolly laugh. This man... This demon thought to intimidate him... HIM of all people with a show of arms! It was the next best thing to ludicrous. "Hahahahaha oh no not in the slightest! " His voice held a mix of humor and disdain. "But if it would make you feel better I'm sure that I could find something that would intimidate... Children perhaps?" His tone and demeanor changed in less time then it took to blink.

"My name is D'Angelo Courtese. Now your name, good sir?"

"Well Sir D'Angelo... Since you have been kind enough to show me yours I think ill show you mine."

With those words the change over took him, and where one minute had stood something that could have passed for a man was now something that could only be a demon in a some what human form. This transformation was not flashy in the slightest. There was no build up, no flash of light, no swirling clouds or claps of thunder. No his lacked all the theatrics that some of his brethren seemed to prefer and was all the more horrifying for that. It was just sudden, one moment he was there and the next there was a being that represented the military power of the roman legion. Standing well over his original height wearing the armor that marked him as a centurion in the legion and carrying a sword and shield of both of which where sized to him, Gaius was an imposing figure. The fiery pits that where his eyes turned back to D'Angelo and with a voice that sounded like the crackling of flame he spoke.

"I Am Gaius Octavian Skipio, and I am at your..." His grey cracked lips stretched into a smile his mouth opening slightly and his teeth becoming illuminated from the fire that burned with in him. "Service."

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