01● Amante del diavolo | Open, Al

[D'Angelo]

January 11th, 2012
Blightscape
Dancing with the Mistress




Several woofs of smoke escaped into the air.


Several demonic corpses dropped to the floor
.

“Ever impressive, the inches of sanity I seem to lose with each demon I slay.” D’Angelo was beyond disillusioned.

Stoic within the heart of the sordid hamlet, the Forbidding Soul perched himself upon the bodies of the dearly departed. His right foot propped perfectly along the spine of a lesser demon, one whose fate ended at the barrel of vigilante’s Espiatorio. Aligned in a scattered form around his position, numerous other cadavers tallied into the dozens as the forty-three minute and seventeen second battle came to its climatic end. Needless to say, the man with lush Vermilion hair found himself on the side of victory as his gun hand bedded on his knee, the spiritual steel looming off to his side as wisps of dissolved energy lifted into the air before vaporizing into nothingness.

Reaching into the confines of his navy blue trench coat and gathering two accouterments, D’Angelo gradually drug a single cigarette to his lips; a wisp of fire soon following suit as curls of smoke ascended towards the deathly firmament, attempting to escape this hellhole and find refuge in heaven. An unrewarded journey, to say the least.

There he stood, in the absence of sun and the absenteeism of the lord as he relaxed amongst a sea of filthy demons. The only entity drawing life as he pondered on his own actions in the solitude he, himself created. “thirteen… seventeen… twenty-three?” He susurrated, calm red eyes hovering over the battlefield as he counted each body, trying to fathom exactly how many he had taken from hell on this God-loving day. “It seems I lost count… Oh well, it was a taxing endeavor.” He commented, his tone both mature and equally filled with monotony as he picked himself up from the makeshift bed he imposed and stood within the boundaries of his own destruction.

Patting down his attire, ridding it of dust and debris, the Demon sighed. “Her palace isn’t too much further ahead. I better make haste.” Slugging Espiatorio over his shoulder, allowing the polished steel of his holy weapon to rest on his shoulder, D’Angelo continued in on the path he had chosen, leaving purified carnage in his wake.

[Asmodeus]

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The motionless bodies of the blighted demons piled up one after another. The undead creatures fell victim to a primitive Earth weapon, a firearm. Or at least that's what it was at first glance. After seeing this weapon up close, it became apparent it was not of this world, shooting forth dangerous energy blasts that punched holes through the lesser demons. They would die, and they would be recycled. The archdemon of this plagued land was not concerned with those manners.

She was concerned with something else, the owner of this peculiar weapon. His bad smoking habit ruled him out as one of the church attending Templars. The common man would might of mistaken this mysterious monster killer as a Demon Hunter. But an archdemon has a certain sense about these things. He was a Demon, just like the very creatures he was destroying. Interesting thing, to say the least, but demons killing each other wasn't exactly something new to the seven billion year old fallen angel.

This former archangel watched the forty minute long battle unfold from afar. Her current form, what one would call a 'mortal form', would cause many to mistake her for a common lesser demon. Standing at a mere four foot five, this white haired demon was the origin of lust, the archdemon Asmodeus. The large scale battle just so happened to catch the she-devil's interest while out on one of her daily strolls through the beautiful fields of the Blightscape. Ah, plague, decay, rot, and death. A reflection of the archdemon's true nature, it was a beautiful place.

By the short demon's side stood about six Plague Spitters, a rotten little creature with a tongue longer than Gene Simmons. Usually mindless, these particular six were under Asmodeus' direct control, they were completely obedient. After the demon-slaying-demon finished his climatic and flashy battle and began to rest on the admiringly tall pile of bodies, the child-like demon signaled the Spitters to circle the him. The decaying beasts did so in an instant, crawling disgusting over and around the destroyed buildings as if they were nothing. The demons would circle the man but hesitate to attack. Ripping him apart so easily wouldn't be any fun, now would it?

The short mortal form of the archdemon slowly and elegantly approached the demon, contrary to the Plague Spitter's quick and contorted movements. Slowly climbing the pile of bodies as if they were stairs, the child came within touching distance of the red haired demon killer. "Is battle your motivation?" The demon spoke in a raspy voice that sounded more like a young boy than a little girl as she appeared. "Or is it something else? Anger? Pride? Thrill?" Crawling closer to the demon's ear, her voice came to a soft whisper. "Revenge?" The white haired demon would playfully jump down from the pile of bodies after this, causing the blighted demons to hiss and scratch at the ground. This should be most entertaining.

[D'Angelo]

One pall of his cigarette lifted into the air before the Demon found himself encircled. From every bergschrund, lesser filth gathered and flooded, completely walling in D’Angelo who stood amongst a pile of their rotting, deceased kin. In truth, he was quite aware of their presence before they even decided to show themselves; this made it that much easier to eradicate them as a whole opposed to systemically finding them one-by-one. The best bait for prey was the expendable usage of one’s self. To truly be an instrument of faith and abolition, one had to be willing to do whatever it took and know that they were just as expendable as the monsters they thwarted. To catch a flock of birds, it was easier to stand still and hold in your palms breadcrumbs—let their greed do the rest. D’Angelo, being the hunter that he was, took fondness to this.

The ultimate sacrifice, while but a faint fragment of his concern was pushed back to the deep furrows of his mind as Espiatorio yearned for their bodies to be mortared by her rounds. Six, gruesome transmuted forms formed a circular cordon around him; there was nowhere to go on his behalf and It was exactly how he wanted it. The Holy silver coating his weapon glistened in the septic light from above as D’Angelo armed himself for the eventual. However, what happened next even triggered a sigh of misperception from the crimson-mane Slayer.

A child? The man thought as the abominations stepped aside, allowing the pale-skin child to approach him by ascending the massif of bodies. No, something didn’t seem right. Her mannerisms—they were commanding—and to have these ghouls set aside with impending harm was unheard of. Just what exactly was she?

“Revenge? Anger?” He paused, still mindful of his shoulders as he made a conscious effort to keep his finger along the trigger of Espiatorio. This scene was uncomfortable and while the dragon-tongued specters were somewhat of a priority, they didn’t put him on alert. No, it was that child—with those crimson eyes as calm-flowing as and exemplary of death as blood. She was the sole cause of his tamed anxiety.

Another wisp lifted into the air and D’Angelo peered downwards, directly into the eyes of his spectator. “Penitence is the only motivation a man should ever need.” And with that, he’d finish his dialect. From what he could gather upon initial scrutiny, she was the epicenter of this trap. The creatures were so easily moved to advance upon him, however, didn’t bother taking a second look at the child. She seemed so relax around him, it appeared as natural as drawing life through breath. Whoever she was, she was influential—even a man of strength could experience the indulgence of new potency amongst his ranks.

[Asmodeus]

“Penitence is the only motivation a man should ever need.” The child grinned widely as the lesser demon replied. How interesting. How interesting indeed. "So you believe in the cloth. Your desires limited, but passionate." In a eerie manner, the decaying demons echoed her words simultaneously. The disguised archdemon moved her long white hair out of her face, which was previously covering her enchanting red eyes. Even though it was a mere mortal form, Asmodeus still gave off a strong aura, as her kimono seemed to blow in the wind, despite there being none. The demon was almost spirit like in nature, which made most uneasy.

Uneasy, anxiety. It was clear that the man in front of her was full of it. His finger trembled at the trigger of his summoned pistol, which never lost it's mark on the demon. He could shoot all he wanted, it would matter very little to the lustful one. Having perhaps the best regenerative factor of all of the archdemons the bullet wounds would heal in an instant, no matter what material they were forged from. It would take a lot more than that to bring her down.

With a condescending grin, Asmodeus cocked her head to the side to let out a short laugh, "Funny ye ended up here, rather than in the heavens." Ah, the heavens. Those were good times. It was always too bright, though, the light ever so blinding. Those were memories she could never forget. "With my brothers and sisters," the demon added on in her raspy voice. This last bit held a bit of anger in her voice, as if she struck a chord within herself.

The pale demon still didn't show any intent in doing any harm to this other demon, but ordered her zombies to circle the two, waiting for the red haired hunter to make a move. Flesh fell off of their bodies with each step, they were truly tormented creatures. Their brains exposed and infested with flies and other mysterious parasites, the Plague Spitters were one of Asmodeus' most proud creations. After all, they were what became of almost every demon who spent too much time in her cursed land.

Even D'Angelo.

[D'Angelo]

This young maiden spoke of his desires being of inadequate fulfillment? Her words alone were enough to send the gentleman into a heated agitation under normal circumstances, nevertheless, this was far from the norm. Surrounding him, without an exit viable for the time being, creatures of the undead skulked; blocking off any route for evasion and while he normally relished in such situations, something about their leader—something about her—forced him into a perturbed temperament. Most would become nervous, winded, if not aggressive, D’Angelo, however, found such emotions distasteful. She put him in alert, her presence, nonetheless, didn’t do anything else remotely deleterious to his state of mind.

The child, with blood-stained eyes narrowed her sights upon Espiatorio, as if fascinated with its design. She could probably see his disquiet bearing and readiness to fire the weapon—it wasn’t something he tried to hide. Just for her, the man would perform a subtle stunt, only seeable to the petite demoness before him. His finger pressed even slighter against the trigger, an unspoken signal that he was willing and equipped to fire its rounds upon a second’s notice if she tried anything he deemed detrimental to his condition and health. A man who favored tricks and gambits ever so seldom, she would come to understand the Demon she confronted was one of little patience.

Then she moved to mocking him? With a swift arc of his arm, Espiatorio dropped from his shoulder and found its nose only millimeters away from the child’s face. This would probably put her creatures on alert, nonetheless, he cared little. No one would ever mock his intentions to his face—it was just as deadly as mocking the Holy Father himself. “It’s easy to get loss along the road.” He remarked, his trigger finger hugging the realm of his Gun that would eventually send a single round into her face If needed. However, after a brief moment, his hand calmed and he simply smiled himself. “The only thing that matters is finding your way once you’re loss.” Nonetheless, he bothered little to move his gun away, she could if she wanted to—or could try.

Her next comment however, even forced the man to chuckle. “Yes, your brothers and sisters.” While oblivious to her actual meaning, D’Angelo was more than chary to the encircling creatures. Pulling his gun away (if she hadn’t done so herself), D’Angelo took a step back, moving slowly down the piles of demons as he found this somewhat hollow. “Now if you’ll excuse me child, I have someone to meet.” Ignorantly, he was saying farewell to the very person he came to these wasted lands to meet.

[Asmodeus]

Before D'Angelo had too much of a chance to pull his gun away and make an exit, he would find that the pale child had grabbed the barrel of his gun. In what appeared to be a delicate grasp was really a grip of steel, something that would take a remarkable feat of strength to pull away from. The ruby eyed demon would pull it against her forehead, the vindictive demon's finger still on the trigger. She lined him up for a point blank shot to the brains, a kill shot in nearly all cases.

The pale child smiled widely. "Don't be going too soon." The Plague Spitters continued their circle around the two and the pile of bodies. They ceased to speak in coordination with their master, and acid like drool slobbered out of their mouths. Their long tongues were dragging on the blighted soil and their rotted teeth ground. One thing was evident; they were beginning to get hungry. Why wasn't she letting them feed yet? Why? Why? Why?! Why?!?

"I'm sure she can wait." The demon said, hinting at her true nature. Asmodeus' grin never left her mortal form's face. It was fun to play with these little things at times before you devoured them. Or perhaps this one could be more than that? "Besides, you have a demon to slay, don't you?" The child said, pushing the barrel of the gun against her forehead with stronger resolve than before. It was obvious that the demon in which she was referring to was herself.

If D'Angelo makes the shot, Asmodeus will fall over as if she were dead, along with a large hole in her head. Strangely enough, instead of typical red blood and brains, black will pour from the pale child's wounds, as her blood is seven billion years of taint. Not at all dead, Asmodeus would release her control over the zombies, making them return to their true violent nature. Seconds after her body hit the ground, the six demons jumped and sprinted at D'Angelo from all different directions. They were all mindless, and would try to use simple attacks such as bites and scratches.

But what a bite that would be. Almost every demon knows the stories of the Blightscape, the horror tales that make even demons check under their beds, or whatever they sleep on. The cursed bite of the Blightscape, the zombifying bite. If you were to be bit by one of these horrid creatures, it would only be a matter of days, weeks if you're lucky, before you were also one of them.

Better be quick with that gun.

[D'Angelo]

This situation was more than uncomfortable as D’Angelo found himself the epicenter of a possible ensnarement. The vile creatures who stalked in the outer rim were but figureheads; the true anxiety came from the youthful apparition that stood before him. Who touched his gun without his acquiescence and seemed so at ease on the wrong end of the weapon of demonic destruction. It was unfathomable, and without question, the strangest situation the Demon-slaying Demon had ever found himself in.  Finger still clenched tenaciously around the trigger of Espiatorio, the man knew what he had to do, and the more time transpired, the more he realized the depth of his circumstances at the moment.

She is the demon of this spiral, while his eyes remained lax, devoid of fright or hesitation, D’Angelo was fossilized. Her confidence was intoxicating and the manner in which she controlled these otherwise, mindless creatures was inspiring. Regardless, he understood her riddles—the manner in which she spoke—the poetic undertones of death and slavery were concepts a man of the crusade was used to. D’Angelo, nevertheless, wouldn’t give himself to such a purposeless lifestyle.

So I did what any insane would.

I fired.

A single round drilled into the child’s head, burning its blue essence into her skull before I instantly yanked my arm to my left; the barrel aimed at one of the six impending ghouls’ rushing in. Without hesitation on the trigger, he’d to, find a whizzing bolt firing towards his skull before I lunged in the weapon into the bed of bodies beneath me and unloaded wildly.

The product being demonic limbs spewing all around, meant to distract the now crazed creatures and make a makeshift barrier as I slipped between the debris. Still in mid fire, I would send waves of energy towards the opposition, moving through the rain of blood and appendages as I aimed skillfully towards each separate creature; firing at the closet and moving to the furthest to maintain my sense of security. If they wanted this meal, they wouldn’t gain such on this day; not while I expending these rounds diligently.

Dropping to his knees, now resting just outside the maelstrom of falling foes, D’Angelo aimed carefully, firing off at the remaining hounds while proficiently covering his own verges if infiltrated. They decided to move upon the wrong Demon this day.

[Asmodeus]

Asmodeus, the archdemon, fell to the floor as a mere lesser demon shot her right through her brain. The pale child collapsed without a convulsion, smacking the ground with a fleshy thump. her apparently lifeless body slid down the organic hill, making it's stop at the base of the structure, leaving a trail of her blackened blood. Her servants weren't so out of breath, not yet.

The zombified masses lurched closer to D'Angelo, attempting to jump him at each and every side, but were off set by an unexpected tactic. Using the environment, the vindictive demon aimed his shots towards the mound of body parts. This in turn caused it to literally rain bloody appendages, which smacked not one but three of the Plague Spitters in their grizzly faces, offsetting and distracting them.

The princess watched from her only functioning eye, being that half her her face was blown clean off. She was not as dead as another would be after taking such a blow, being 'immortal' and all that. Her regenerative systems were already kicking in as cells reformed themselves and began to form a basic skeletal structure over the missing components. It would only be minutes now, if that.

The ghouls continued their mindless assault, but it was in vain, as the sharpshooter carefully executed each one at a time. First the undistorted ones were blown away with three clean shots, leaving the distracted ones fairly...well...open, as they should be. It wasn't long at all before all of the minions were vanquished, well, six. The Blightscape had hundreds of thousands more of these monsters.

"Cleverly morbid." The child's voice rang out in an echo as she had stood up moments ago and inched near D'Angelo once more. Half of her face was only a skull at this point, but it quickly filled itself out after she spoke. First came the muscles, and then came the organs. It was as if there was never any damage in the first place, and if it wasn't previously apparent before, it would now be clear that this being was no mere demon.

"Excuse the rude entrance, I failed to even exchange introductions." The child spoke as if it hadn't just sicked it's zombie hounds on the gunslinger. Her voice was lighter, but still carried a commanding and mysterious tone to it. A smile grew across her pale face as her eyes glowed an ominous red.

"My name is Asmodeus, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

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