01● Brividi Agrodolci | Open, NPC

[D'Angelo]

January 1st, 2012
Stygian Thundra
Bittersweet Chills




His mission hadn’t ended as his journey brought him to the Stygian Thundra. Like the other spires, this virulent, frost-bitten dominion was but an illusion of a human world beauty. A land filled with energy and joy within the realm of the living, the mesa on which the Demon Slayer stood on now was but a shattered glass; distorted and useless. His travels were long-drawn and on his ways, he met few and slain many. The life of a wanderer ran deep within his veins and while perfectly content with continuing along this thankless path, D’Angelo could only imagine a life, bereft of fatal sin; a life with small mishaps, but overall, a generally well-lived existence without this. Only time would hopefully bring substance to his marveling.

His thoughts alone were enough to distract the man from his extensive trek through mounds of snow and rural buildings. The appeal which could have lived long in this realm completely crushed by the weight of despair and depression that reigned supreme; the thought alone sent a taste of contempt along the man’s tongue. How few ever survived this land, and as such was evident by the random blotches of corpses that resided erratically. Some rotting into soul energy, while others were fresh, this was but a constant reminder of what D’Angelo willed himself to dismiss; the carnage, the torment, the sorrow—these factors would end beneath the pressure of his trigger.

Espiatorio clinked quietly at its master’s side, hoven to his thigh by a rather lavish hoister, concealed comfortably beneath the shield of his navy blue and golden-trimmed trench coat. This style of dress was only complimented by the natural magnetism and charisma that exuded from the pours of the Forbidding spirit whose hair was stained vibrant reds and eyes that mimicked such a color. Truly, D’Angelo, upon first impressions, never would give off the thought of being a Hunter of his own kin; nevertheless, looks were none the more deceiving as he trudged further and further into the unknown.



Dancing off the beats of his chest, a glacial golden crucifix rattled with each step, an indication to his cause and the only master he’d claim. “I’ve heard horrendous stories about this place…. I’ve never been more excited.” Almost feasting on the thought of ascertaining a level of fear and adventure he hadn’t seen in some time, the concept of danger and death were but minor pitfalls in his temperament. He paraded through snow, and flattened terrain as he moved in the direction of the sun. An aimless feat and he knew it. However, something would eventually find him, something always did. It was this breath of misfortune he banked on to commence his day’s hunt.

[NPC Demons]

The Stygian Tundra was as cold as ever. Always there was nothing but snow and ice. Great glacial cliffs dotted the landscape, while the dark skeletons of trees stood covered in frozen waste. Very few creatures could live here, and what did live here had to grow strong in order to survive. Among them included the Toothed Horrors; massive carnivores descended from the giant hoofed carnivore of Earth, the Andrewsarchus.

One of these was currently devouring the last remnants of an old meal. Scavenging was common in the Tundra, and the Toothed Horror was most certainly the least picky eater. Often they would feast upon the scraps and leftovers of Moloch's great meals in his home, though today this one was lucky enough to find the frozen remains of an old corpse, likely a Blood Sword or some other creature drawn out into the Tundra in the hopes of finding easy prey trapped in the snow. The Toothed Horror fed upon the remains, the leftover soul energy of the dead demon swallowed whole with each bite.

As it fed upon the corpse, its ears suddenly fell back across its head. It looked up, its massive nose inhaling the air in quick, short breaths. It could smell another demon close by, most certainly a living one, and it was powerful...but it was alone.

The Toothed Horror didn't know why it was here, but it wasn't going to stick around...at least, not out in the open. It quickly buried its food under the snow and padded its way away, using the falling snow and the shadows for cover. It quickly blended into its surroundings, eyeing the path and keeping itself downwind so that it would not be detected.

If it was lucky, there was a good chance it was going to enjoy some fresh meat today...

[D'Angelo]

The beauty in being in a quiet region was how easily it was to indulge in the senses. Noise and interferences were naturally nonexistent and once the mind and body attuned to the natural flow of an environment, even the smallest of sounds rang like large bells. Both instinctively and skillfully apprehensive, D’Angelo never dropped his guard. Allowing himself to become vulnerable and entrusting his life to an unknown feature wasn’t something he favored. Even when the odds laughed at his advantages and his abundance of hindrances, the crimson-mane demon held one thing true to his heart. His ability to see and his capability to listen.

As such, when even the slightest signal of distortion infiltrated this pacific landscape (for a Demon’s protectorate), D’Angelo was well prompted to respond. Continuing his walk, following through with each step confidently, the man’s ears perk and a subtle hmmm expelled from his lips; quiet and accepting credit only from himself, the Demon felt a certain uneasiness. A sensation similar to being shadowed, or followed, it was one men knew in life, and one that was only amplified in death through his new physiology. This alone put him at unease and while visually unmindful to any on looking, his mind wandered for answers nippily.



I’m being followed, it was a feeling he was both used to and have implicated time and memorial. He didn’t need to see what followed in the darkness of his senses, that which slipped through his eyes would never elude his consciousness. As such, as a means to test his theory, D’Angelo continued in his walk, moving through the derelict conurbation, passing tree after snow-covered tree and allowing his vessel to escape into the day’s embrace. If he was approached, or if more clues echoed in his ear, he’d act accordingly. Espiatorio was but a handhold away.

[NPC Demons]

The Toothed Horror watched the path carefully, its eyes hardly blinking as its body soon became buried in the snow. It became just like a natural snowbank within a few minutes, almost completely indistinguishable from the rest of the terrain. As it lay there, hiding, it used its powerful nose to take stock of where its prey was hiding. It was close now, it could feel it; sense that it would not be long before the prey would attack.

The snow dropped slowly to the ground, covering most of the landscape. It was confident that its passing through to find a hiding spot would go unnoticed; after all, snow covers tracks really quickly in the Stygian Tundra. It's how the Toothed Horrors did so well - they would have been spotted easily by the sentient creatures living in Inferis, as the vast majority of their prey happened to be. Had it not been for their abillity to quickly hide and infiltrate the land, they would have gone extinct long ago. That's why it hid so close; because it knew that it would never be seen until it wanted itself to be seen...

It then spotted it, walking down the path. It was alone, and it was small. It looked human.



Of course, it didn't smell human. Humans smelled sickly-sweet and bitter. It knew because it had eaten scraps from other human meals before. It was pretty much sure that most of the creatures it hunted were human, or maybe human once. It didn't know. It didn't care. They may all look the same, but what mattered was the taste...and right now this thing was bound to taste warm and fresh.

It shifted its weight slightly towards its forelegs, careful to keep itself from being spotted. Muscles sat coiled and ready to spring. Fur stood on end. Blood pumped and boiled. Eyes became focused. Saliva began to gather and drool oozed from the gaping maw. Most of all, hunger began to drive. The beast was very, very hungry.

It failed to notice that it had left a visible track on the path by its earlier meal...

[D'Angelo]

As he wandered deeper and deeper into the continuous midwinter and as silence walled him, every possible interference stood out just as much as the inaudibility. Unnerving, the feeling of knowing something stalked in the unforeseen, yet couldn’t be perceived by the eyes. A man, whose own abilities relied cripplingly on the art of seeing an opponent found himself so vulnerable, it brought unwanted strain to his consciousness. He had to alleviate this feeling; he had to escape the sensation of helplessness and to combat whatever wandered in his shadow. Fortunately, this realm was expansive and filled with not just obstacles, but impediments. He could make use of any and everything around him.

To his left, trees and variously placed buildings; both ruined and pillaged in snow as his right exhibited analogous conditions. The horrid consistency did well to spot irregularities and inconsistencies. It was the beauty of being overly thorough; having the somewhat-annoying aptitude to see particle-sized black blotches upon a white canvas. If anything seemed out of the ordinary, he would pick up on and act consequently. But for now, what he needed wasn’t clarity, he needed shelter. To his forefronts, with the grace of god, he found such protection. This, needless to say, complimented his face with a smile.

A small hut, both disheveled and unkempt resided off to his northern verge. Its door, ripped from the hinges and windows shattered from the frame. While worn beyond belief and opened, D’Angelo saw a shimmering light. With only a door, and a window on the same edifice, its entrances were limited. Soon enough, his legs guided him to the direction, and promptly following, he’d enter. With his vessel escaping into the emptiness and darkness of the small house, he’d challenge all to enter behind him.

[NPC Demons]

The Toothed Horror watched as the prey left the trail. It approached slower, more carefully, making its way ever-so slowly forward towards the demon as he made his way towards...something...

It clicked in its head; that was shelter. If the prey made its way inside, there would be no accomplishing its goal. It had to move fast, before the prey could escape. It made its way forward a little quicker, exposing itself as it took a big, hoofed foot and stepped on the trail...

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In the hut, shimmering light from a nearby torch fire flickered in the small space. The door lay upon the ground, having been taken off in a mad and desperate attempt. The window had been broken from the force of a powerful impact. What caused this damage wasn't due to something trying to get inside, but from a mad, desperate attempt at something escaping.

A poor, lost soul, poisoned and already dead, was having his soul energy sipped from his body like a broken vial. His body was wrapped carefully in a coccoon of silk, covering all but his eyes which lay curled inward towards the back of his skull. His skin was blue from exposure to the cold. Not even the fire from his torch had saved him.

The killer was a local predator. An Ice Spider, gorging itself on soul energy and fluids, sat upon its carefully constructed web, its body the size of a man yet easily hidden in the dark shadows. It supped its meal with relative ease, consuming it with gluttonous vigor. It had been left to survive in the winter cold for a long, long time without food or nourishment, and it was desperately hungry for its vittles. It contentedly feasted upon its frozen victim, feeding upon the still very warm body fluids that had ceased pumping only minutes earlier.

Then it heard a disturbance. Something was approaching its carefully constructed nest. With its many eyes it peered out of the shadows. There was something approaching, something very man-like, though its demonic senses could tell that it wasn't man at all, but rather it was a demon like itself. Still, it wasn't going to give up the supper that it had waited so long to feast on. No...it was time to add something new to its cellars, something for the guaranteed hard times that were soon to be upon it.

The Ice Spider quickly and quietly brought its prey further back into the hut. It rolled it up and cemented it upon a corner higher up in the ceiling, where the shadows were thickest. When it was done, it moved to the opposite corner and held itself very still, keeping its legs extended across and its body compacted tightly where the new prey would least expect to see it...

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The Toothed Horror realized almost as soon as its leg stuck out that it had been exposed. At that moment, it didn't matter whether it moved or not; it was guaranteed to be seen. Compromised, it decided it wasn't going to lose the element of surprise, and charged.

It lumbered forward, doing its best to make up for lack of natural speed and agility by simple determination alone. Its feet made loud nosies as it padded through the snow, the hooves clopping against a hard stone under the thick cover as it moved. Its jaws opened slightly, ready to open wide and clamp down on its newfound prey. The fight for survival had finally begun.

[D'Angelo]

Just like the outside, the interior of this small, convicted hut experienced chills unfathomable. Even the small wisp of fire that escaped the end of what appeared to be a torch in the corner wasn’t nearly enough to generate suitable heat for the entirety of this place. D’Angelo was, for the better part of his expedition, quite tired of being placed in such hazardous environments. Even in hell it seemed the places you stepped upon could easily overwhelm you. The endless cycle of torment that sapped away one’s tenacity and fed the nature of this desolate wasteland with even more despair. Luckily for him and sadly for this hellhole, the Demon was by no means weak and faltered little to none in such extreme colds. His internal furnace and fortitude was enough to burn the chills off him.

Standing off to the right of the entrance (Diagonal to the hidden spider), D’Angelo reached into the confines of his navy trench coat. Struggling with the contents of his covering for but a moment, the man pulled out a box of cigarettes and a single lighter. “Guess I can take a little break.” Knowing that there was only one way into this place from inspection upon entering, he’d have both a clear line of sight and shot for the predator that stalked outside. To calm his nerves and put to rest his patience, however, a nice smoke would suffice.

Placing one between his lips, the ciggy sat flaccidly before its end lit a dim orange. Tufts of smoke lifted into the air as the man just as quickly placed the lighter and package back into his jacket and his crimson eyes wandered. What a shit hole. Musing to himself, the man drifted from his location to the corner, finding himself approaching one of the broken windows to further assess the outside. That’s when he stumbled upon a rather disquieting discovery. A single brow lifting in confusion and his left hand reaching out towards the wall, a goo-like substance lined its edifice.

“Viscous…. Like wed?” As his index digit took a single sample and his fingers rubbed it in along the surface of his gloves, he made another unearthing. ‘And its fresh.” No matter the status, a creature, even in hell, took on qualities of its human world counterpart. The difference between freshly-laid webbing and an older substance was quite patent, and to a man who questioned everything around him, this was enough to set him on alarm. It wasn’t until he lifted his head, however, that he truly understood the gravity of the situation he got himself in obliviously.



A cocooned corpse, one deprived of blood—as it was spilled along the walls draped in frost—and flesh. The smell was enough to kill a man. “Seems I’m not alone.” Without hesitation, his right hand dropped along the handle of Espiatorio and whipped it out of its hoister effortlessly. Turning to face the entirety of the Hut, his ears also perked as loud treks sounded outside. Something was approaching, and fast! Damn, could his day get any worse? Standing at the ready, he prepared himself for the inevitable—conflict.

[NPC Demons]

The Ice Spider watched from its cold, dark lair as the creature stepped inside. It was indeed very much like the corpse it had fed on, though the difference was that it could sense that this was a stronger creature; a demon perhaps, like itself. It didn't matter; food as food. It remained in place in its corner as it slowly worked each individual leg until it could get itself into a crouching position, ready to spring on the prey.

The man/demon thing lit something and then turned, his hand touching its web. Instincts told it to jump at the man right then and there, though it dispelled them. Something didn't sit right. Perhaps it was better to wait and see what would happen. It kept itself ready to spring into action, eyeing the prey with its eight, reflective orbs, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The man noticed its larder. He had reached into his coat to grab a weapon. The spider would not wait a moment longer. It pushed back hard on the corner and sprung!

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At the same exact time the Toothed Horror watched as its prey went inside. It growled in frustration. There appeared to be no other way in. It didn't matter now. It continued its full, frontal charge straight at the building, its jaws opened wider now and its mouth dripping with saliva.

At full speed, it slammed into the doorway. The Toothed Horror was about 20 feet long, and a good 1/5th of its body was skull. Thus, a good 4 feet of open mouth and slavering jaws had managed to enter into the doorway, nearly breaking the frame as it did. It moved its jaws back and forth, trying to get at whatever was inside. Whiskers at the end of its snout sensed movement...

[D'Angelo]

And then, it had sprung. The subtle creak along the weak wood was enough to alert the Demon slayer of the intruder—or proprietor of this “lovely” estate.



Whizzing through the air at modest speeds, all with the intent of devouring the “unknowing” forbidding spirit, its fangs would be met with sanctified steel. Quickly adjusting and drawing Espiatorio in one, fluid moment, his trigger finger ignited with glee as several electrical rounds swiveled towards the imminent creature. “Tch !!” He sighed, eyes narrowing as the eagle-eye wielding gunman expended his revolving chamber’s content into the eye cavities of the ghoulish spider. If they hit, or missed, was completely and entirely up the specter they moved towards as he aimed with murderous intent. However, he didn’t have time to sit back and watch the fruits of his labor as the sounds outside grew stronger and his wanting to stay in this place depleted.

The door frame shattered completely! D’Angelo’s eyes widened as a large skull vented into the entry way, eliminating the easiest way out. Instead, he took a less conventional means. Moving back on his pivot, the Demon Slayer did what he did best, make an action-filled exit as he leaped back, falling through the frame of the window he stood by; coincidentally the glass was already gone so he didn’t have shatter it or alarm others in the process. While in the mdist of his fall, promptly moving towards the ground, the end of his gun aimed at the corner of the house—where the support beams resided.

“Bang.” With four blue rounds impacting against the wood with their strong concussive force, the man attempted to force the house to collapse on itself, as well as the two inside. He’d stand up quickly, his gun still aiming at the same location, and its adjacent form as several more rounds exploded into the wood. If this (which was unlikely) didn’t force the house down, the creatures inside, and their demented movements wood; especially the larger one stuck in the entryway.

[NPC Demons]

Spiders are known to be nimble creatures. Even incredibly large spiders are nimble in their own right. But to dodge bullets? Not so much. The spider saw all those sparking, blue rounds in every eye then two of them went out. The impact made the aracnid flinch, its furry body falling to the ground as it clicked rapidly. Its mandibles click as this insectoid whine cut through the room. At around that same time, the forceful nashing of the quadriped beast brought its body forcefully forward, cracking more of the doorway. Beady eyes spied a form fall from the tiny window of the hut and a harsh puff of crystals escaped the mammal's nostrils; an icy, aggitated huff that signaled its resolve. He wanted that warm, beating heart and all its surrounding, chewy sinew and internals. It slobbered at the thought as his head turned to the twitching, eight-legged creature lying in the corner...arachnid...ugh. Too crunchy and entirely too cold. The Toothed Horror wanted fresh, warm...bloody food. And it would follow that meal till it got its meal. Even if that meant charging the opposite wall. Which it did, despite the sounds of the loud thuds of splintering wood, several times.

With the support beams weakened, all it took was one more headbutt to break through the semi-rotted wood and with it, bringing the hut down on the Ice Spider inside, which squeed in pain as even more bad luck befell it. The Toothed Horror dragged its long, saliva-saturated tongue over every razor sharp tongue, taking in a deep breath as it did so. It then huffed a fast, hard breath of ice, reaching out to sting the demon's flesh with the cold, hopefully reaching his eyes. Then, instinct took over. The Toothed Horror took off running, a quick jerk to the left as it made a wide arc around its prey, going for the vertebrae of its meal. Spinal cord was always the easiest way to kill something, as well as one of the most delicious parts of the internal systems.

Not too far away, the rubble of the hut shifted and scuttled, small splinters of wood rolling down a growing mound. Out comes one leg, dust coating its "fur". Then another. Then another. Then five more emerged as the spider limped out of the massive shitpile that was once a liveable shitpile. The six eyes loomed at the tiny demon. Aggitation made spiders violent. It made predatory spiders not only violent, but hungry. It now would be completely satisfied if it could suck down the liquified innards of this demon like it was a free milkshake. It moved, one foot following another, slowly, deliberately. If it tried to attack again, it had plenty of cover to dive into with all the loose rubble around it. The Toothed Horror saw it as a distraction for itself. The perfect opportunity to strike as its hoof-like paws stamped against the arctic ground.

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