IC: Upsurge.

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:d22e9a2f37]Alone within the tenebrous darkness of her own mind- something reached out through the unknown barriers of dimension and time; although both time and space had no bearing upon the realm where the coveted was sustained and welcomed by others whom she called family. Those whom had shown the loyalty and respect that many had claimed and yet within a blink of the eye had attempted to steal what was clearly never their's in which to declare presidency or supremacy; those whom she now despised- wretched neophytes, the false children of that dark decadent Goddess these were the children of the faceless; bearing a name in which none had served or proven themselves truly worthy except for a very elite few who had long been scattered to the pungent oppressive winds.

This dark-Aphrodite had long rested her jaded head upon the back of the obsidian serpent; eyes lingering across the shadowy fissures of rebirth, reincarnation and incarnation- the very quintessence of both paternal and maternal epitome moulded into the singular diminutive physique; draped in the very filaments of dream and nightmare. Light and darkness merged to forth that gracious quintessence of cruelty, beauty and sinful tidings- the daughter of death, the daughter of life; the nemesis of heaven and hell all furled into that lithe miniscule form slumbering mind reaching out against the further regions of the abysmal Hyperion, the very velveteen thickness slowly asphyxiating any form of exit or entrance. The Gates of Ganzir long closed to the otherworld, the intruders who lurk- non void of any world or realm, only to wander like hapless shadows forsaken to this world and any other dimension whose barriers crossed the umbral-sea of pandemonium and sh'ol. Within this realm she had long toiled, aiding in the rebuilding of a great dynasty and hierarchy; the children and Grandchildren of Bly'al'al.

From the dreamscape, images flashing through enigmatic visions portraying the very pictures of this unknown realm, shadows reaching out as the voice of a siren harmonized through the intonation of allegro and low timbres- a haunting effect to that psyche reaching out as if to take the hand of a long lost lover- or that which had always been clandestine and lost to her, but now had somehow managed to be found; discovered deep within the obsidian mantle of void and dream- coercing, compelling- summoning. Even though this was not verbal synchronization of conjuration or cantrip it was clearly heard so vividly in comatose state; her form naked, floating upon the emanation and fluctuation of the ether- searching for that source. Leaping through barriers, exploring every vista of worlds in the incorporeal intangible apparitions- splitting every fibre of her being to seek those who held significance in many of her lifetimes- only a very select few would ever arouse her nefarious passions and considerations; all others were just fodder- of no significance or importance.

They were disposable puppets long severed from her controlling hand- nothing, naught- forgotten and gone and there would never be an ounce of reminiscence in their favour. To them, like her- they had long evaporated in the miasma of purgatory, now, the ghost was returning although never completely had it left. It dwelled in the most decrepit of places also dispelled to slumber- an eternal sleep, never to awaken and once again cast that malevolent shadow upon the mortal shore. Tarnishing and staining the barrens in death, corruption and depravities- how the rivers and streams once ran blood, even the tears of youth formed tiny rosette beads. Oh how the human soul cries when it is slowly ripped from the husk and implanted with the true seed of debauchery and sinister intentions. They acted by command yet deep inside they knew they were damned, humanity becoming a burlesque parody- hypocrisy now the earthly poison. Salvation is never received by those grovelling upon the ground like worthless insects, and she nor would her blood ever become one of the pawns of this realm.

A word would escaped twixt those lips of crimson wine- so sweet to kiss and yet blood-stained to taste, to tease with voracious tongue; salacious sounds unfurling from that sarcophagus of silent lucidity a harmony so honeyed, spectral in accentuation- sultry plumes ascending in frosty tendrils through the damp condensation of the ethereal sea…although this name was unknown to her awakened perceptions it was another force which inspired that information- the very name of the secret so long held in careful smothering hands; the name of her true self. The very name lingered, spellbinding and enchanting in such dark musical tones- perhaps the one would recognize something of herself in that very sound barely a flung whisper upon the zephyr of her realm as she laid motionless upon the tower floor.

Soul extending for the other- twin flames of birth and blood; the reflection of beauty staring at each other through a veil caught between worlds and realms; blackened butterflies yet to emerge and spread their wings of wickedness over a realm which had little understanding of the true word evil... not that it mattered anymore.[/align:d22e9a2f37]

[Ulyssiak]

Only miles from their destination, three men indulged in their hastened exploration and leapt from rock to rock.  Hoisting along their supplies and rarely revealing their matutinal expressions under the veil of cloaks that blended with the mountains’ eastern face, Cyrussia and Llumeth reached far beyond their usual capabilities to stay with Ulyssiask; and despite their best efforts, there was no comparison to the coruscating movements their master exhibited from one second to the next.  Still, Ulyssiask selected them to pursue this exploration with him because they were two of his best – loyal and continually vigilant.

   There were rumors heard only two days before of a changing sky and fluctuating land masses near the northern center of Raa Deis.  Out-posted legionnaires sent word by the hooves of horses and their riders, reporting signs of otherworldly creatures and structures blinking in and out of sight.  King Ulyssiask and part of his Saqqaran Legion were stationed just outside of the eastern Seliire borderline.  They’d crossed into the Czathe foothills and waged a small campaign against local rebellions just before entering the mountain ranges of the Czathian Peaks.  From there it was easiest to venture in and out of the mountainous ranges through the farthest southwestern tip of Czathe, cross over the Tennastan River, and into the northeastern plateaus of Raa Deis.  Ulyssiask selected his two finest men available out of some seven hundred able-handed men always readied for war.  Every day, these men awoke and praised their leader – a man they considered more than King, but ruler of all and a divine deity, deemed so because of his infinite invincibility compared to the feeble mark of commonplace men.  Ulyssiask was one of very few, inhuman not just because of his flesh and blood – unlike that of humans – but because of his mind and heart as well.  Some even did in fact worship him as a god, a prospect he had very little adoration toward.

   A sudden stop jolted Cyrussia even more awake.  Llumeth was too not just a mortal man, but weaker than Ulyssiask still; and Cyrussia weaker than Llumeth still, for he was human.  However, to underestimate his skills and ability to fight would be a lethal mistake and costly to entire battles.  Ulyssiask had stopped for moments now, awaiting their arrival as their footsteps were not nearly as quick or agile as his.  Again, there was no comparison to the coruscating movements their master exhibited.  Behind them, miles of rigid cliffs and mountain peaks drifted in and out of sight between low drifting clouds and morning dew rising skyward under the heat of a rising sun.  Ahead of them, the wooden and rope bridge that crossed over the Tennastan River and into the Raa Deis hills, which eventually dissipated into a flat and level terrain.  Shafts of light cast glints into their squinted eyes through the diaphanous fog lingering over the torrents below.  Only an hour later, they were walking into a small residential area in accordance with the Saqqaran Empire.  What they saw was much more than what was expected, though.  Part of the small trading city had been replaced by some part of another world, a place of fiery winds and wars riddled with rabid, demonic warlords or something of the likes.  Some walls appeared crystallized, others reduced to ash, and still others a mixture of porcelain and the charred flesh of war victims.  In all of his experience, Ulyssiask was simply perplexed over this occurrence that seemed anything but mundane.  The shadows of strange and deranged creatures lurked in and out of allies and cornered darkness.  He was reminded of a visit he paid to a small city in an Azbenn providence in his nonage, following the lead of his father who was High Guardian to the King of that time, A. Furai’de IX, named supreme Ithae over Belderrom.  Ulyssiask was Ithae now, having killed King Furai’de, conquering all lands surrounding the great kingdom of his upbringing – the beautiful and infinitely reigning Belderrom.  And here he was, walking again through a city reduced halfway to ruins, but partially left standing and functional too.  Something was by far different this time.

   As Ulyssiask stopped on his right foot, just stepping onto a street lined with clay bricks, so did Cyrussia and Llumeth stop with opposing stances to create a readied formation.  Years of special training appeared in their stiffened joints and toughened bones and skin.  And in their knowledge of these ways, they weren’t just men.  These were phantoms, creatures of war – from the beginning, just boys versus the wolf and nature’s cruel methods of raising her children.  Now, they were men proudly wearing their battle-scars and blood tainted hands, same as their tainted steel swords, and ready to scream a battle cry that’d announce the death of any man before them like the reaper’s swift scythe.  They were anything but complacent; men such as these craved blood – especially the King, a man who could drink blood with a smile of content and eyes that blaze and tell a story of satisfaction only found in world of war.  Each man, in sequential timing, dropped their cloaks to ready themselves for battle; crimson robes settle in the stiff air blanketed by smoke.  Their muscles were already tired, weary from travel and the weight of armor and shields, though still light to bodies born to deliver death on wings of impending doom.  From childhood, these men were infatuated with death, with everything dark.  And then the unthinkable happened, something no one of the three could fathom.  Darkness surrounded them, movement of those creatures on every flank – they were surrounded by the very thing they were raised to bring as their greatest weapon, and still fearless.

   â€œStay steady,” Ulyssiask demanded their continual loyalty to him, no matter what.  The winds picked up, crimson now flowing and the clattering of sands carried in the wind sounding against their armor and shields, and even their swords still unsheathed.  Whispers became distorted and like sirens, though still ominous.  Each of them stared into miasmatic chambers of death, blackened eyes of plagued demons who’d readily feast on their flesh; but something stopped that.  These men were already marked with death, rather from times past or some event yet to happen.  Everything became opaque, just like those clouded eyes of sinful confessions and murderous temptations that reflected a tasteful desire of Ulyssiask’s own.  Then, Ulyssiask and his two men were in a completely different world, a place to which he knew no name for except the damnation of Hell, a place he didn’t even believe in before.  His beliefs weren’t founded upon life after death, but life and then death and nothing more – a very good explanation to his ways of darkness, living life while he has the chance.

   The King’s helmet distorted his view, so his hands lifted it from his head and away from the view before his eyes.  His shield was heavy, so he sat it upon the ground and held it there, with his helmet in the other hand.  There truly was no name to his knowledge for this place he was in, none other than the nameless pits of hell.  What had become of the King and his men?

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:2083c6ee2b]Nothing is created from nothing, and nothing can return to nothing: or so they say; creation weaving but only ever complete when the cycle of death consumes it, however, even the end can engorge on itself causing a complete reversal of the effects… perhaps her coming into this world could have been a little more… delicate to the equilibrium of balance between all worlds? To be delicate when moving through the folds of time and essence had always been adhered to, had something changed in her own essence that she no longer cared what worlds crumbled to her will and coercions. The black rose in bloom would no longer be held gently in the palm of her hand; instead its petals were crushed and bruised, masticated between cruel fingers before being released to blow across the blackened charred fields with ritualistic callous libertines. Had it all really come down to this… shattered crests and metaphors to suggest recalcitrance? Was war so feeble a practice that all was doomed to die regardless of side and alignment?

The temples of Ur had served their purpose and that was only but a means in which to advance, or, in this circumstance descend to the pylons of the seven zones governed by the celestial spirits to prevent cataclysmic occurrences such as this. Most could only make this journey in the ephemeral sense not in actual full embodiment, at least in a more tangible solidity. Ceremonial ritual and remembering the principles when manipulating the gates to open wide and embrace her figure as a mother would to her child, cradling, even if in a lawless fashion to prevent the soul from becoming lost to the obsidian maws of the abyss and usually Atra  would have complied, but care and empathy no longer existed in her ebony heart, and hadn’t for quite sometime prior to this monolithic event. Before it had been for retribution… this time it was for the sake of being able to.

Arms extended, held elegantly in the Goddess pose above her head, feet stepped apart in conjunction with her shoulders- eyes closed while sanguine apertures flinched in expression. A muted whirr at first, humming from the nucleus of esophagus up through vocal chords becoming gradually louder as the drone vibrated from the back of her throat and tongue rested against the palate of her mouth, behind the teeth… an exaggerated hum more syndicate of a assiduous somnolent mantra moving through the threads of time demanding the notice of the keys of creation.  Conjuring the watchtowers, not just invocating the compulsion of the operation but forcing it to be inaugurated instantaneously, not on just one gate but the entire seven and all in unison to the next and knowing the full consequences resulting in the sudden explosion of conflicting emanations.

A vacuum effect being caused shifting these ‘outer’ zones off their axis and forcing them through the barricades of ‘Other Worlds’…invading the delicate obstructions of all ‘infernal’ or ‘abyssal’ dimensions, bringing unto them the murderous hordes of hell- the demonic renegades inflicting the wastelands with goeatic banners splattered in the blood of the fallen, the hounds of hell arching their dissonant napes and howling in blood-curdling cries of imminent war and blasphemy belligerent with the sulphur crested hyperion.  The fourth gate, Uddu bore much revelation to the wars pillaging the inhospitable unfruitful landscapes contiguous to the Gates of Ganzir. Those gargantuan black mithril sentinels guarding the treasures beyond… the altar of Lilith and all the secrets locked from the grasp of thieves seeking to unveil the mysteries of the fallen ‘Black Madonna’ for her demise had long been set to stone.

 Murdered by the hands of a Wamphyri, Ankhnesmira… a name long bereft beyond these shadowed gates; the name bore a crime of its own punishable by death, executed by the Lalartu, the spectral Priests of the Temple of Nehemiah where she still stood guard, eyes burning like a thousand suns as they stared downwards with reckoning. Left hand cast out towards the slaughter as if welcoming her dead back into that callous embrace only to tear their souls asunder, for this was no nurturing mother to behold. Right hand pointing towards the Blood Sea of Ishtar, beckoning the scarlet waters to rise and flood the sinners from her altar just like Cain had done to the cities of Nod and Enoch. With the inundation a dark blessing would come, one that promised rebirth and inauguration, a supplication of her dying wish, to never permit her offspring from reigning in her seat of Infernal power.

Betrayals bring warmth to a cold, merciless heart. Atra’s eyes remained closed, mind focused while he ‘inner’ eye disseminated over the carnal images portended, relayed back through the sphere opening wider and wider like the gaping maws of Leviathan ready to swallow every world whole just to hear that sweet song lingering through the passages of time. As the sphere parted the way, a great unrest emerged disquieting the hapless wandering spirits in the Netherworld and Shadowlands causing them to retaliate as each slammed their phantom-forms against the barriers separating purgatory from that of the wraith lands. Her domination demanded… caveat over all that existed. The winds scourged the scorching plains of the desert as skies turned black, the land heaved beneath her bare feet.  She, herself did not claim such a feeble proclamation of ego, and that was all gods were in her eyes, just a figment of some fools imagination and the need to seek salvage and purpose in the guise of false idols barely worth the spittle from the beasts of burdens let alone consideration for reverence.

There were no gods only fools decorating themselves in gilded trinkets, narcissism and fallacy… a delusion conjured by their own need to feel ‘omnipotent’ or ‘substantial’ when everything else in their capabilities failed the purpose they so purposely served. It was not people who served the gods; it was the gods who served the people for with each came a purpose to incite worship…and not filling that purpose inspired their extinction, hence their fall and descent into mockery. For they no longer served a formidable or benign purpose… they were void. It is also logical rationale that gods are only gods if you believe in their nucleus of power, if they are nothing to you, you render them powerless and it is here where Atra separated herself from the self-acclaimed upstart to that of ‘real’ power; she already had it so why decorate herself in the garb of an effigy shrouded with the wills and whims of many? This land was lawless… it had no purpose of gods, devils or ‘supreme’ beings, here they were all misfits and each brought their own murderous intents to the banquet of war. It brought mild amusement across her ruby-moist apertures, a nefarious smirk crossing those lips of fatal caresses and unbridled perfidy.

Now guised by archaic words, the seeker behind the serpent… the final key to the final gate disharmoniously reverberating to unlock the last obstruction though leaving the rest open while pushing through the next inflicted. A massive burst of electric magnetic waves deluged through the first opening of the sphere only to follow through to the pinnacles of the outer spaces, pulling down the kingdoms of other worlds. The ancient covenant had now been broken, worlds breached and the end of the beginning had commenced. Atra did not need to scream the names of those who held presidency over the gates into the night. Voracious grinning winds of unfurled hatred whipping through the mantle of obsidian black hair billowing like a murder of raven’s in fugue. Naked porcelain flesh revealed through the separated fabric that had merged between the swathed tourniquets of raven-black leather and gossamer bandages. Strips and plethoric garlands surrounding svelte limbs barely enough to conceal the wandering imaginations and ambiguity where ‘woman’ was concerned.

Mistress of the Dark Occultic Mysteries… this rapturous beauty held the very essence of damnation within her hands and juggled it all so heartlessly, it all meant nothing to her so why even dawn on empathy and mercy that would never be there. Condolences would never come from those fatal apertures laced with curses and vampyric libertines, hum turning into that of unfurled words in sinister unification as if many words interlaced to form one coherent lilt. Copious voices synchronize from ranges of celestial melody and choking skeletal choirs that reached the firmament to those sparkling gems blinking within the sky; the constellation of the Bear aligning to that of Saturn breaking the seal of Inanna, preparing the way for the coming of Nergal- the disease and plagues of terrestrial contaminations to ravage the earth once again causing fire to fall from the swollen heavens as the moon gave birth to Lammashta. “Ia! Ia! Zi Azag Zi Kur. Alal Alla Zul, Uggae. Sha epishia u mushtepishti-ia, Absu Nar Mattaru.”

Most fools thought that the seven gates were subterranean, chthonic beneath the terra firma where man dwelled. That had always been their folly and through lack of understanding could never comprehend that the seven gates involved the alignments of Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Mercury, the Moon and Sun- ‘to step on the ladders of lights’ the Ancients called it. The flaming chariot racing across the ebony blackness, entering through the coalition of summoned spheres, now had come the time to simply shift ones corporeal form through the barriers and enter her own place of origins, the Abyss. Walking the forgotten path, figure shifting to the incorporeal, insubstantial to allow for the metamorphosis of gossamer wings to spread and take Atra back to the world more familiar. Where wars still ravaged the lands, sanguine rapture spilled and harpies circled the inky darkness where squamous tentacles stroked the bleeding heavens perforated the seismic breach like a ruptured orifice.

Obsidian jagged peaks iridescent in the mitigated gloaming of scarlet infused midnight, stretching out across the Blood Sea like a smothering hand to stroke yet asphyxiate in the arabesque wreaths of vaporous miasma fluctuating to covet the raping throng of swarming hordes taking out those foolish enough to stray from the sanctuary of colossal obsidian stronghold gates. Transgressing from one place to another using the spheres as the focus, having made this journey more than once, it was secondary nature but what Atra didn’t know was the serious effects that opening all seven gates would have upon every other dimension, sphere or astral plane. The human world have grown dissident, those like her were no longer revered by the puny mortals who now feared the immortals as monsters and tyrants who killed for perverse pleasure and self-gratification like bestowing their supernatural beauty and imposing intimidations. They once worshipped death, based their entire pantheons and traditions on preparing for death and the journey to the stars. The world was rotting, dying… failing to tantalize her desires, it was time to seek them elsewhere and on those far more worthy to be a befitting sacrifice.

The mortal shore was left behind, the gates closing to conceal her presence from their pathetic eyes; no longer would they know such beauty as hers. Feet landing on the blackened soil while particles of dust scattered to the spiteful infuriated winds contemptuous in retaliation against the Chaldean adversaries. Approaching the periphery above the ‘killing fields’, acrimonious nigrescent eyes narrowing heinously, stabbing the brutal panoramic burlesque spectacle below from where Atra stood elevated, her stare striking downwards in mockery of all that lay in front of her… broken impaled bodies still twitching upon the spikes of crudely cut dowels, lynched from their vocal chords from the summits of calcified trees turned to stone; hanging like windchimes as the blistering squall whistled through the incision to throat and out through the mouth like some perverse woodwind instrument.  Blades singing as they interlocked together, metal hitting metal as they grinned with fiendish indulgence. Stomping feet shaking the foundations, shouts of battle-cries and agonies of the fallen ringing through the upheavals a thousand-fold.

Gracefully Atra’s right hand slid across her concaved naval, skin so smooth and supple to the touch. Deft digits furling around the hilt of her blade fastened within the scapulare at her left side with her twin scimitars. The hilt, forged mithril scorched black to form intricate patterns upon the silver surface. The pommel fashioned in the naked form of a demoness and sharp-edged wings in a striking pose. ‘Venenum ab Ater Abyssus’ or also known as the ‘Poison of the Black Abyss’ adorned with mysterious sigils and glyphs unknown to any outside the Wamphyri, these specific runes summoned the essences of both shadow and malady;  poisonous. Branded with the 15 glyphs of death and entropy, able to extract her opponents physical energies for the blade possessed an intelligence of its own. Psychic vampirism and diablerie, especially lethal to vampires for the opponent may not soak lethal damage, this unique Katana is an anathema to the undead or immortal alike giving them the irrevocable benediction of Final Death. The cursed blade responded to her touch, a tingling sensation crept across the palm of her hand as fingers closed around it, slowly withdrawing the blade from its place of slumber.

Extracting it unhurriedly, smooth silver jutting out from the black mithril scabbard, exposing the ten jagged teeth of the outer limb of the sword only to watch it curve to a finely honed precision- razor-sharp and smiling impishly as the reflection of light skimmed over its surface provoking a evanescent flash of brilliant illumination demanding recognition. Hand trenchantly gripping the hilt, listening to the musical cacophony of metal scrapping against the lip of carapace in reminiscence of the Bladesingers from long ago, but this was just one of the traits of the ’Venenum ab Ater Abyssus’ eager to taste metallic ichors spilling over its fangs with animalistic fury… of course this blade had an intelligence of its own and acted on its own accord once the blood frenzy takes presidency. It was in this state the blade was at its most deadly, feeding off the wounded target as each hit occurs bringing into fruition diablerie and soul-feasting attributes.  Other than the Staff of Ereshingkal, it was the only weapon she possessed for the purpose of a quick death… usually she entertained herself well with the Damascus Egyptian scimitars that she used as if they were merely extensions of her arms.

Swinging the blade from her left side in elegant movement… flexing the outer arch of the blade outwards so when the apex of her sword touched the ground the jagged prongs of teeth faced outwards then rising the blade high into the air before her exquisite countenance, blood-stained apertures nearly resting against that harsh coldness of steel. Challenging all those below with a single war-cry ”XATROS NIFER ROXAS RORTOS TERFITA SALIBAT!” the declaration insinuating that all who stand opposed would not see beyond this moment, for here their legacy would end. Bladed mithril fangs grinned over the battling renegades with an ill-omened sneer, what a controversy that the murderess whom had taken their Queens existence and rendered it annulled now stood right before their eyes in all her glory, ready to commence the caprice of her selfish obsession, their deaths. Their precious Nehemiah was dead… and even if they had managed to find a way in which to extract her essence from this very blade without Atra’s acknowledgment, it was extremely unlikely they ever would.

The fighting ceased at her battlecry, calling forth those disloyal to the Infernal hierarchy…this latest insurgence was to claim Varloorni to the demonic pantheon to serve as kingdom for some guttersnipe Grand Duke, Zaitux who was more than prepared to grovel at Satan’s feet for the table scraps. This Atra would not have. All eyes of burning coals looked up from beneath blood-splattered helmets, their sharp features contorted into visions of sheer horror. Vitae dripping from their weapons and armor not to mention bloodied faces painted with the spillages of blood and gore. Mutated bodies decapitated, disemboweled, dismembered… already the harpies and ghouls ripped greedily into flesh, sucking the secretions from eye sockets or digging black talons deep into the wounds only to retrieve vital organs, intestines and bowel tracts through vicious claws only to devour the treats with black parched maws. Cannibalism and necrophiled addictions took place over the dead, not even their bodies would receive the respect of warriors… to every monster and creature there. They were simply slaughtered lambs.

Deep concentration held its fixation over the entire miles of plundered land and the spoils of wars. Not noticing at first the diverse differences in the landscape… two worlds/dimensions trapped inside the other. Interlocking… perchance both were at there most vulnerable. Their frail worlds savaged by eons of wars destroying the vital energies of influence along with the forces that stabilized the pillars holding the barriers fast. Either that or the dimensions just happened to be in the same sphere at the precise same time, a million to one shot, but possible. It was then that the arcane darkness shrouded the entire circumference of the wastelands before the Gates of Ganzir…shadows and congealed elements constantly shifted like lovers underneath black satin matricide tilting the axis with violent shudder shaking the cliffs and shifting the plates beneath the harsh terrain moving the attention from the battle and the declaration of the Countess staking her claim over the trophy …Varloorni. The disturbance had passed and seen as nothing more than a storm breaking from the East, maelstroms were known to incite illusions and mirages from the lower layers that were crowned with the flames of the nadir, hence the battle recommenced as some of the opposition made their way towards Atra.

Adroitly and adeptly twisting her wrist to swirl the sword in an elaborate fashion, flowing with sword mastery even though it had been long since any fight or duel had been ventured into. Arm falling to her side with wrist slightly bent outwards to hone the serrated edge of blade outwards ready to strike and with rapid accuracy. Beating hooves were the first to heed for they came directly upwards from the edge where Atra stood. Black nightmares dripping with foamy sweat and blood, their riders draped in all kinds of fancy archaic armor of clumsy spikes and serrated adornments along with the plates protecting the beast’s legs but not their chests or flanks. Composure changing to take a defensive reverse stance… turning her slender diminutive body slightly to the side from the left, right arm lifting to jut her elbow slightly out behind her; raising the tip of blade to stick out from her right side, the Katana held secure by both hands preparing to thrust forwards with a fierce jabbing action towards the first juggernaut. Aiming between its flanks in order to perforate the breast then aggressively forcing the blade up through bone and cartilage, through the lungs of the beast then withdrawing the blade; pivoting her figure around to the right to avoid the collision as the nightmare faltered in its canter dismounting the rider and collapsing to the ground whinnying painfully as the poisons inflicted its system.

The other two riders circling around while the third came directly towards her in a clumsy attack as he rushed forwards bringing his sword upright and slashing first to her mid-torso, then swinging back again in reversal to the first. His attack was fast and should she have been a mortal would have easily been cut into two. His sword was heavy as with his armor in comparison to her Katana and wearing no armor, it only made sense that she would be quicker and more agile in movement. Atra parried both blows, bringing her weapon up towards his attack in a cross-wise action using the teeth of the blade to lock against his then forcing it back with a skillful flick of wrist and strength within her arms. Reflecting the attack but stepping forwards to bring her opponent directly off balance and having never stepped back from a fight even for tactical means. Retaliating promptly, swinging her body around so that she now faced him from the right side, stabbing the apex of her sword instantly towards his ribs. Noticing the pain in his eyes as metal inflicted his body, digging deeply into that chalice of quintessence only to be brutally twisted to masticate the bone entirely.

Left hand moving away from the hilt, moving her body around to frontal position, bringing her body close and up against his as that blade drove in deeper, sanguine apertures brushing against his lips while listening to the hooves approach closer to where both she and her victim stood, entwined. Again with the strength of her arm the blade drove in deeper, her free hand moving to his shoulder to hold him still, should he move his heart would be pierced like a peach on a warm summer’s day. Lustful apertures parting sensuously, moving away from his lips, staring into crimson eyes stunned in disbelief, however, soon it would be proven he was nothing to her nor would he ever be. Instantly her mouth moved to the side of his neck, fangs puncturing mercilessly, drinking in the metallic ichors to imbibe his essence rapaciously. Belligerent diablerie perfuming the perceptions, pulling back from her victim as swords were drawn high and swept across wise in hope to decapitate.

Senses reeling, but they would not be quick enough to make their mark. No sooner had she ceased feeding, just at that vital moment of onslaught, Atra ducked downwards though holding her plaything in the frontier of their attack to receive the dance of blades in unison. Head dislodging and falling with a sick ‘plonk’ to the blood-drenched soil before morbidly rolling along the ground, where once those burning fires alighted now they were nothing but vanquished suns. Sword retreating from wound slowly, the squelching timbre satisfying to the audible acumen. Left hand liberating his shoulder as sword fell away, the lifeless body slumping to the sodden earth. Ascending the blade to her lips, tongue protruding to seductively flicker over droplets of vermillion while watching the other cretins riposte around to make another futile charge. The vision stimulated her mind, devilish eyes reflecting the macabre scenery while licking along the sharp edge of her blade not only supping the last memories of her victim but to also bless the blade with the poisons from her tongue… the Kiss of Lilith.

Hankered snorting from the beasts of midnight, hooves digging up the earth in full charge, swords drawn high as one after the other they both simultaneously made their assault though their was not enough area between Atra them and the sheer descend to jagged juts of obsidian below that formed like the arrowheads of monolithic spears. To fall would mean certain death. Riposting unhurriedly… head lowered to look upon the sanguine splatters forming divinatory patterns upon the blistered loam, ravenesque cascades shrouding her face, hiding the homicidal fixation displayed in those eyes, soon she would reveal to them the hidden natures from within. A cynical smirk forming at the corners of the mouth, chin casually rising in a haughty manner, parting the midnight shrouded coveting what were mirrors of midnight now orbs of opalesque unnerving white mimicking spirits trapped beneath glass; emulations of ghostly seas.

Blade held ready in her hand as the first swept upon her then the second, dodging the first blow by tactfully sweeping her physique downwards away from the slicing momentum of the sword, bending at the knees only to flip and elevate her body directly into the oncoming assailant. Maintaining her blade instinctively at right side, moving closing to the target and getting one yard then striking with a stabbing thrust upwards towards the rider’s right side as silver penetrated through his right side, slicing open a massive gash. Scalpel sharp-edges delving cavernously into the base of spine severing the lumbar nerve rendering the male… paralyzed. Plucking the weapon from warm ruby orifice, maliciously, instantaneously the corpse tumbled limply from his mount, booming hooves beating against the sodden terrain in thunderous din as its hellish bulk vanished into the inky blackness.  Discordantly nickering… sonorous in hedonistic high-pitched shrieking. Now the odds were more feasible, one on one though the odds were not in his favor.

Sauntering over to the body with voodoo pendulum sway, hips exaggerated in movement but eloquently sashayed. Katana cleaved downwards to sever and remove the head, crouching down; left hand grasping the thick matted hair and lifting the trophy to her very eyes, staring deeply into those lifeless whites, the eyes had rolled into the back of the cranium giving the orbs that haunted appeal. Atra’s other challenger had decided that attacking on the back of beast wasn’t such a good idea after all, dismounting and approaching gingerly. Chin turning over left side shoulder at a 90 degree angle resting over the contour of arched bone, staring at the approaching fool patronizingly and smiling with jagged edges. ”Perhaps you should put that toy away, or give it to one who is able to yield it competently. I cannot promise your death shall be quick, neophyte! Rest assured it will your demise celebrated nonetheless for you see, your method fails… your advance is callow… your conviction lacks passion and most important of all pointers… you’re just too insignificant.”

Sardonic words hissed pestilence and abhorrence. Legs pushing upright from the crouched position to turn and face him, her right arm bearing sword resting against her thigh along with the decorated surface of silver and crimson. Head cocking to the left as translucent orbs danced over his physique notifying her he definitely wasn’t anything more than a grunt. Black chaotic armor decked his bulky strong physique, helmet covering the upper half of his face except for his burning black eyes where twin suns burned fiercely. The head of his comrade being thrown towards him, left hand swiping it away, knocking it some few yards away ”Save it witch! Traitor of Varloorni, you are not worthy to stake your claim over the great city of Lilith!” his rapier tightened in gloved fist. Strong features of jaw line tensing only further provoked by the mockery of her laughter. ”Little fool!” Atra hissed…

 â€You blather of your devastated Varloorni, yet the idiom means no more to you than a parroted lyric from one of your tedious, oh-so-important screeds. What do you know of Varloorni- or even the fall of it for that matter? Did Lilith tell you of the sacrifice made to Baron at the expenses of all your legions? Of the screams in the streets as newborns gagged forth their blood for my sustenance? Oh women and children dragged naked to the altars of that very name in which you speak so deferentially, given over to the caresses of my throngs? It was my blade that kept the wolves from your door when your noble line was too blood-gutted to stir!” The transparent pearls of her eyes narrowing, acumen slithering to search his mind for a name and plucking it from his memory as one would a feather. ”Ticonis…” grinning fiendishly as the sobriquet was hissed twixt white incisors, tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth to incite the louder pronunciation of last syllable. Left hand stretching outwards, hand curling as fingers pointed towards the swirling dark gesturing for him to come forth and place words into action; if he so dared.

It was then that he charged, sword drawn to stab directly towards where he thought her heart should be, jutting forwards and using the length of his arm for strength in fluid motion. Shaking her head, quickly lifting her sword to parry then block, forcing the jagged teeth of her blade to lock against his then pushing forwards against his weight to disallow the block to untangle. Left hand curling into a compact fist, instantly and neatly snapping her knuckles into Ticonis’s neck- [one], then plunging her fingers precisely into his eye sockets, honed claws digging harshly into the mirrors of his soul – two. Then a sequence of the prior action one-two straight into his throat forcing Adam’s Apple to break, the bone splintering as tiny shards shattered, vocal chords destroyed. Another one-two quicker than an infant could drawn breath and harder than what most lesser demons or vampires could strike… smiling tauntingly at Ticonis. The sword falling from his grasp, his hands clawing in panic at both ruined eyes and crumpled windpipe; no sight, no voice and no chance to invoke his otherworldly innate abilities. Now Atra could work at her leisure.

Battle still broke out below, but that was of no consequence to Atra who relished upon the screams of her latest victim, pushing him to the ground face down while she straddled his back, placing her sword at his side while left hand plucked the dagger from his scabbard. Right hand holding his head down, pressing viciously while he chocked on the dust below him, he could not scream loudly but it was still audible enough in animalistic grunts to know he was suffering, and suffer he would. Taking the dagger, pressing the tip of blade against the center of his spine, carving the wings of a raven into the flesh of his back and chainmesh, or at least that was what it looked like. In actual fact, Atra was cutting the ribs away one by one down to his loins. Not enough to kill him, but enough to keep him alive and howling (or at least if he had the voice to do so). After removing the ribs, she reached in, pulling out the lungs twixt clawed fingers… her victim slowly choking to death. The pain excruciating for with each forced intake of breath, would feel like a hundred incisions being inflicted within lungs and heart; squeezing the appendage so that it artistically burst to the pressure then elegantly standing looking down at the Ticonis with bitter malevolence.

”I see my reputation still precedes… you should have never underrated me, it is a mistake so many make. Disappointing.” Turning the body over, noticing Ticonis wasn’t quite dead yet…straddling the midriff section of his torso then flicking the dagger, the silver-flickers of blade spinning into the air before venturing downwards, hand clenching around the hilt only to drive the knife straight into his heart. Watching him die, leaning forwards so rubiescent apertures rested against his, placing a kiss upon those quivering petrified lips as his body decimated to nothing but ash and remnants of bone, eroding away like dust. Rising to her feet as right hand traced the hilt of her sword, picking it up from the dirt and placing it back into the scapulare at her left side. Grabbing the black leather studded lashes of reins, left foot sliding into stirrups hoisting herself up and over onto the saddle of the warhorse (nightmare). Violently swinging the mounts head around, whipping the length of lash against the rump of the beast causing it to rise upon back legs and lunge forwards in full gallop down the lesser steepness of the mountain range, balancing herself expertly and again preparing her sword for combat, pulling it from sheath and keeping it in right hand, galloping through those remaining, slicing and slashing from left to right, taking down as many as possible in that short space of time. The battle was no so intense for the causalities were severe, the wounded being dragged off by the hounds of hell along with ghouls tearing gluttonously at the carcasses and fending off what remained from the talons of the harpies circling above like vultures.

The thicket of the battle had moved to the westward quadrant of the Gates of Ganzir leaving only the dead, wounded and the curious. Atra had no interest for those wanting to follow in her shadow, grovel at her feet like sniveling dogs… Atra had already injured that from the name she once held albeit to her heart. But now it  was nothing but a faded memory and nothing more, no longer her heart held love or loyalty to those who did not deserve the second thought. Those who claimed her as their mother had never been anything but a means to an end… their mistress cared naught for their ‘false’ achievement or over-weaning ego with nothing to proclaim as momentous. They were all weak in her eyes save for a couple who merged from the obscurity of mendacious artificialness. However they had long been lost to the frayed ends of time, her existence no longer lived for the name… now it was all for the means and desires of Ankhnesmira.  

Another violent shudder rippled beneath the bloodied topography… the darkness parting to reveal a strange world from beyond anything she had witnessed before, three silhouetted figures merging from the melting darkness in the distance, having to squint her eyes to decipher what direction in which they traveled which appeared to be heading in the same direction to the ‘killing fields’.  Gaze moving past the figures to study the world behind them as it was swallowed once again by the darkness and the thunderous roar of collapsing spheres and upheavals of the equilibrium of the zonei and manifested gates that were now beginning to close. If the wanderers did not venture back to their own world, they ran the risk of being trapped here for eternity.  Turning her back on those who had crawled from the battle to juxtapose themselves to her imminence was ignored… she had no use for weak feeble warriors, she had enough of those in the past to last an oblivion of wars and conflicts, now, it was just her and her alone.

Kicking harshly into the rump of her mount, urging it forth to gallop over the stained plains towards the voyagers, sword still held adamant in her hand, reins held in left hand and balanced maintained by the strength and poise of her legs. Bracing pace from that of gallop to a more cavorted extravagant flaunted display, boisterous as the juggernaut approached the three. Renegades were still battling it out, Atra turning her head to witness the theatrics of a band of warriors then jadedly rolling her eyes as they came to focus on the three men. Halting no less than 10 yards away, opalesque eyes scrutinizing them with an intense stare of patronizing condescendence… yes she was arrogant and conceited, any creature could determine that without having insight or premonition- it was displayed rather impertinently. Sanguineous apertures roiling into a mordant smile indicating that she could not be trusted as an enemy let alone a lover- both intents of massacre usually came hand in hand.  Looking over the men standing beside the other in the middle; making note of them as nothing but insignificant servants and instead focusing on the one in the middle who appeared to hold sovereignty and dominance  at least over the wretched accompanying him.

Atra’s dialogue spoke articulately twixt ruby-tarnished lips with raspy, sultry timbres but also bore an underlying whisper of phantasmal conjurations and cold callousness…like a serpent entrancing prey to the constrictive embrace of death. ”My…my…my look what has sluiced upon the peripheral shores of Ishtar. So tell me, delectable stranger… why venture from the sanctity of your homeland into the clutches of the damned or are you unknowing of that what you have stumbled upon of your own free will?” Ruben apertures curled into more of a macabre smirk, a rasping snicker following her enquiry…slender ravened brow arching like the bruised crescent moon over ashen skies portending detrimental omens. Amusement abound while arms leant forwards, left elbow on thigh as chin rested upon the knuckles of her hand, feigned contemplative as if enraptured by their presence, however more entertained by the possible outcome. [/align:2083c6ee2b]

[Ulyssiak]

At the sounding of hooves and the approach of the daunting beast – carrying this mistress of beautiful lips, curves, and a tongue readied for centuries of condemnation and torturous, hissing convictions as it seemed – Cyrussia and Llumeth readied themselves for battle.  Cyrussia to the left and Llumeth to the right – each stepped back with their outer feet and faced their backs to one another, bending their knees and drawing their swords, and lastly raising their shields so that they were covered from mid-shin to shoulder.  And still, Ulyssiask stood and waited for her to halt.  When she stopped only a short distance from them, he conducted his behavior as a respectable man and heard her out.  And in consideration of her last words, ‘of your own free will’, the ominous king tilted his head and then stood in silence momentarily with the slightest of a remarkably unexplainable smirking expression across his face – still, he retained the discerning façade he always displayed.

Glancing over to Llumeth, Uly leaned his shield against his right leg and raised his hand to touch the tip of the blade his valorous friend held so diligently.  The King looked his man in the eye, something of a scarce act for Uly to do, and nodded his head with a gentle expression now relaxing his face; and at his lord’s request, Llumeth lowered the weapon, stood up straight and sheathed the blade.  Cyrussia did the same knowingly.  Rather than immediately returning his gaze to this mistress and requesting or demanding a name, Uly continued to gaze to the right just beyond the peripheral silhouette of Llumeth and the warriors shield – off into the distant fields of war ruins and bloodstained grounds.  Again, a sudden smirk and half of an exhaling breath resembling a slight laughter overcame Uly’s face and escaped the flaring nostrils of a calm man.  Only then, after a moment of pausing and contemplation, did his head turn back to face forward – but his gaze fell toward the ground where his shield pierced the dusty earth and then to the top of his helmet where the bright red horsehair plumes of the crest on his helmet danced in the slight breeze.  He knew what to say, but rather or not he desired to say it was still in question.

Extending carpals to straighten and then curl so delicately around the bottom edge of the helmet, he gripped and lifted it from its resting place on his side near the hip.  Uly took the helmet into both hands and gently set it down over his head and face – the stifling enclosure personified his appearance as a true warlord even more, even as the plume rolled crimson tides through its layers of straight hair.  And as the helmet came to its destined resting place, a scar became more obvious.  The mark of a death blow was etched and embedded in the hard steel above and below the left eye, beneath which scarred tissue in a straight vertical line crossed over the eye brow and onto the flesh between the zygomatic bone and the infra-orbital foramen.  Now, it is nothing more than a memory of a battle nearly lost.  Uly glanced back down to his shield, pushed it back from his leg and lifted it into the air with his right hand alone.  The steel barely reflected the sound of every grain of sand sliding down the inner curvature of its edge and lip; and in a two simple movements Uly hoisted it into place, fitting his left arm securely into tough leather straps designed to hold the heavy steel beast in place and never break.  Then the King stepped forward just once, and looked her in the eye as what he would consider to be an equal to his stature, speaking directly and without quivering lips or voice.

“So it would seem... but of what sanctity do you speak, my lady?”  In the midst of his strangely sarcastic inquiry, Uly made sure of a slight tilt and straighten of the head in movement of the neck, and an arch of the brow.  â€œAnd if it is into the clutches of the damned I venture,  then know this;  that I have walked, not stumbled, into the lands of hell and out of my own damnation, of my own.. free.. will.”  Once more, he paused.  And without notice, his left arm forced the shield to clear a small gap from his body, and his right hand tightly gripped the hilt of his short, one-sided curved sword and hastily drew it from within the sheathe it slept.  The sound of shrieking black steel against the metal mouth of its sheathe blazed aloud and emitted into the atmosphere – a disturbing sound unusual to the sound of any other sword being drawn and engaging battle.  And as he spoke his next words, Uly held the sword directly out pointing to his left flank and slowly swept it to point toward the right to cover from eastern to western territories abroad in the distance, referencing them both verbally and physically.  Proudly he announces his message, “And no clutch, no matter what its strength, can hold THIS free man..”  He seemed tense for a moment, but then more relaxing sarcasm escaped him.  â€œAfter all, my world is... hardly enough to conquer in size.”  Again, a slight smirk crossed his face.

“However, I hope that you might forgive my men for their unsteady ways.  Quite the warriors, but they lack in manners at times.  I am King Ulyssiask, Ithae to all of Saqqara – an eastern nation from which I hail.  Tell me your name, and perhaps we can be of considerable company to one another?”  Ah, the more charming voice spoken softly; every king should know how to be both subtle and demanding.  In this case, only hopeful – though ‘confident’ may be a more appropriate word.  Uly lowered his sword, and continued a direct gaze toward the rider before him.  The chest piece is in her court, now.

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:06a83d253c]Leather audibly constricting as hips squeezed back into the mount beneath her dominance and persuasive demeanor, hands gripping the black rawhide reins only to wrap the whipped lengths around bare knuckles before leaning forwards to listen and examine the situation from a perched position above the strange trio. An eyebrow arching steadily at the approach of the foot soldiers, or at least that is what she considered them to be merely by impression that the one who stood before her held the sway of order and supremacy. Still their antics amused her just as much as hers had obviously amused him… the idiosyncratic natures proving them not to be so different, not even remotely ‘alien’ to the other. The dark smirk transgressed over those deathly lips like a winter’s frost, callous and unsympathetic of the blood spilt this day- the fallen had received their final resolve, they were weak and thus not even worth a second thought.

A whimpered unrest plagued the lands, pained, screaming and crying for a mercy they could not bequeath unto themselves…fatally wounded without the means to end their miserable existence. Scraping fingernails raking the earth in the last throes of life, not wanting to let go for they feared death; it was more than evident in their eyes before rolled lifeless into the back of shattered craniums… the red coals finally extinguished. Casually leaving the attention of his words to gaze outwards over the carnage of fractured effigies, dismembered limbs, fermented innards and torn viscera- intestines draped over the charred earth like Goetic salutations for some kind of carnal ceremony. The stench of rotting corpses long ravaged by parasitic carnivorous carrions, gastrointestinal tracts shredded the acidic and rancid heady scent wafting across the lands with a viscous cadaveric persistence that did not dissipate even as the winds scoured the ‘killing fields’.

 That stench of death, tapering on the senses brought everything back to focus, achromatic mirrors glancing back over the one who spoke ever so articulately, refreshing really to see at least one possessed an intellect. Satin tumbles of sable tresses flagging and tousling in the squall of the wastelands, whipcord around her albescent features granting her a monochromatic allure decorated by the rouged cramoisic symmetrical cambers of seductive lips curving upwards to lift the cheekbones into higher distinction.  A chortle briefly escaping before a hiss emerged through the buoyant pretence, even Atra could act partially entertained by this encumbrance. Finally replying, voice a little less meant for intimidation and one more smooth and mellifluous, honeyed and dulcet though still acquiring the nuance of mordant derisiveness, he could take it any way he wanted, but would it be as she intended?

”Any place offers more sanctity than this, then again it is us who can make a heaven out of a hell, and a hell into a heaven… are we so blessed to think so selfishly? Do we delude ourselves so preciously? Damnation we weave so eloquently only to shroud ourselves in a shroud too thick for others to perceive. Such deceptive creatures ‘we’ are.” Imperceptive mirrors narrowing like twin scalded crescent moons hanging aloft in the black firmament like a cruel foreshadowing portrait behind divine eye-lids before they snapped open as if receiving an epiphany of elucidation. ”No clutches may hold this dove? Yet those already around the slender throat beg to differ, the wings broken and the heart nothing but a useless mechanism… the drum beat signifying the requiem of the lachrymose. But… that is for the somber fool even regretting, not for those substantial as we?”

Atra was not sure if her cryptic words would mean anything to him, or if he’d define them to similar quarters as they were poignantly stated, however it was doubtful they’d be derived exactly how they were meant; it mattered little, even then Atra knew she wasn’t dealing with a fool pretending to be a great man. Eventually her hands broke free from the leather lashes of the juggernauts bridle, right hand fingernails plucking a long strand of pulpy flesh from her attire and flicking it off with a blank expression. Awareness fully noticeable that the battle had moved south-eastwardly leaving them in the battle pits, the land stained with the essence of blood as if now nothing but a crimson wasteland. This land used to be scared until the first droplet of blood had been spilled, now it was forsaken to the order of Elysium and open for the taking.

Not that Atra ever believed in boundaries however had no intention into getting into a full on waged battle with Lilith’s many sorcerers. It was much more subtle to let the hordes and renegades curse themselves. Why yield an obvious plan when one could be far more Machiavellian and cunning? Rhetorical questions with conspicuous answers. Nefarious smirk widening still exposing ivory honed incisors extending from the upper canines, a chuckle void of breath escaped raucous and guttural in effect ”No world is large enough to conquer and no man an island in which he may desert himself from the… experience” Left brow arching even higher, the crimson glint gyrating within the blackness of her eyes, burning suns of worlds long conquered, blood long shed by gauntlet and blade, the insatiable hanker never quenched or satisfied for that was the passion of the Wamphyri.

Right hand gesturing with a nonchalant wave of her hand in regards to the ways and manners of his men, amused at the concept of a ‘King’ apologizing for the said ‘unsteady ways’, ”Yes, your men do seem a bit… skittish! Perhaps they have reason, and perhaps they do not. Let’s determine that by what happens next, shall we?” At his introduction, Atra’s head reared up, chin lifting with an arrogant haughty though titling slightly to a 45 degree angle listening to his ‘impressive’ title and even more interesting some place Saqqara  unknown to even her ever-watchful eye; and somehow this place had managed to not capture the curiosity of the Countess. Then again, it could not worth much since he had ‘walked’ into a place less impressionable save for its reddish and black jiggered landscapes… maybe it could be determined as hell, there was after all little difference.

”Well… King Ulyssiask, Ithae to all of Saqqara, I am of less impressive title compared to thee but it suffices my purpose in existence. I would be Contessa Atra Satrina NexLamia or even more formal Al Marg Zagh, as per what my…warriors refer to me as. Warlord of Naethyrn and western of all Starside and these are my spoils of war long bereft of resolution and long lost my interest to pursue other merits to my name. The wolves of war have long claimed these fields as the ‘killing fields’ cursing this land for it’s the only way to force the release of Negahbâni, only then will those gates open.” A sinister smile taking over the smirk, the Negahbâni was a hideous beast formed from koldunic rituals and crafted from the bodies and blood of multitude bloodthirsty fiends… a Vinculum of 40 ghouls and warbeasts formed into one single hideous entity that was still undefeated.

Fleshless, the bone forming the thick impenetrable armor protecting its back and lower abdomen, amoeboid patches and course hair covering the rest of its bulky muscular frame that exceeded 40 foot when standing on back haunches when in combative attack. For years it has remained chained behind those walls, Lilith’s most precious pet and it hankered the tender touch of its mistress long dead and rotting in the swamps. Eventually, the scent of rotting corpses and blood would become too much bringing the creature into frenzy. It was this excitement that made her toes curl… all she had to do was wait and bide her time conversing with the delectable King and his merry men. [/align:06a83d253c]

[Ulyssiak]

Through all of what she had to say, Ulyssiask remained unremittingly still, his breathing shallow and poise firm with every waking moment.  Though, given the bearing of such an intangibly hellish wasteland scarred by the hideous desecration of war and tattered with the entrails of men and women, it would seem more appropriately deemed that the king and his men were living in the midst of every dying - rather than waking - moment.  The expression on Ulyssiask’s face faded into a insipid void of emotion except a lingering sense of iniquity for a moment, and just as the last word in her first question peaked his insidious and more primal, long forsaken interest in true darkness, he turned and angled his head ever slightly with a nonchalant nod toward his men.  At the speechless understanding of command, the two assumed a more informal posture and embarked upon a short leisurely hike away from the king and unknown mistress.  At the moment of their departure, the words of her previous question lingered in his mind, “are we so blessed to think so selfishly?”  And in the same juncture, she followed up with a second question that intrigued him even more so than the first.

While she continued to speak and his attention never departed from her, his head gradually faced downward with furrowed brows and partially squinted eyes.  What interesting, cryptic messages she had to share so soon with him; and every bit of it kept him drawn to her, closer and closer still.  Around the time he dismissed the two warriors, his right arm had come to a rest by his side, still holding the sword with the point drifting only inches above the ground.  When she spoke of a man or beast with a title foreign to him, an expression of interest curled his lips with a minimal smirk; “Negahbâni?  Interesting,” he silently recited its name to himself.  Finally, he sheathed his blade and heaved his shield from his arm once more, lifting it up with both hands at its top curve and then thrusting it toward the ground.  The loud thud emitted just as her last word blended into the distant cries of war and plunder and her lips showed a rather tasteful smirk.  As a tendency, he hesitated before speaking.

“Contessa NexLamia,” he nodded as though in greeting, eyes falling to the ground with brows furrowed then back up to her with an attentive expression continuing, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Mind you, those are but useless titles in addition to my name, of little relevance - as the insatiable blood-thirst of cold steel won't be judging any man by his title in the final swift delivery of one's death.”  Ulyssiask acknowledged the end of his proclamation based on personal experience with a hastened moment of silence, and then abruptly disturbed the momentary serenity with not just the dropping, but slight shoving of the heavy shield to the ground as though in carelessness.  It’s steel mass struck the earth, rolling in circular motions around the apex of its outward curvature in the center.  Now, Ulyssiask was just a man with flowing crimson cloth hanging from his shoulders and around his neck, clothed around his waist and upper leg, armor only covering his cranium, shins and forearms, and a sword at his side.  As such, he approached the beast of a steed that she rode and stared into its face with a discerned expression.  Around to its left side he stepped, left hand raising and sliding across what would be the hide over its muscular shoulder; and he stopped at the arrival to Contessa’s left leg, rested upon the edge of the beast’s side and the mount upon it.

“I find it interesting that, when you speak, you say 'us' and 'we'.  I see neither hell, nor heaven; but perhaps an interesting prospect.”  Adding a conspicuously lightened expression to his appearance and angling his head once more, Ulyssiask looked into those eyes, ones beyond anything he’d ever witnessed.  â€œI know not of you, but I am predator, not prey.  And with shear gripping hunger and a great enough lust for whatever I desire, I need not such useless tools as a wing... or a heart, to go any distance.  Damn the somber fool, and damn regret...  Still, I know of what you speak.”  A slight smirk and stare into the distance as his hand fell further down the side of the beast, near the upper part of its front leg and chest.  â€œSuch... apathy.  It should be law.  Dare I say... I am blessed, and I am selfish - and that I will not deny my self.  I care not for any other except blood, lest it benefit me.  And my blood-kin are dead.”

Amid the center of that statement, his gaze shifted back into hers and met without breaking away or any shake or movement otherwise.  And while he locked his eyes into hers, his left hand reached upward and grabbed hold of the leather reins halfway up their length, leaving slack in it to the head of the steed and room to grab at the bottom for her if she so chose for any curious reason.  Simultaneously, Ulyssiask lifted his right arm, uncurled his wrist as well as each digit - he extended and offered his hand to her, following up his actions with an immediate inquiry. “So come, tell me what it is you really, truly… want?”

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:cfd5da8e82]It was the most unlikely place that a chronicle would begin…a trilogy of events that could make a world or bring down universes; there was no doubt this ‘King’ was a blight all of his own otherwise why would he have come to these plagued shores of death and disease. Blood stained unfertile lands stretching further than what the naked eye perceived, even the lofty jagged heights of mountain gleamed with that unnatural reddish hue, sheen as if made from molten liquid then solidified by a millennia of blizzard-bitten winters. Why had their worlds crossed? The answer perhaps would never be theirs to relish in darker years that would follow, long after this union that neither would ever forget. His words were like honey, a congeniality not accustomed to her characteristics nor ever really experienced other than the use to allure and lead one of less wit into a sense of false security before cursing the wine with toxic poisons. Atra never underestimated an opponent, not that either herself or Ulyssiask were immediately examining the other for the prospect of battle… though the thought did cross her mind at least once during the conversation and between calculating ponderings and revelation.

 Maybe even he thought of the same only to push it back into the hidden recesses of his mind due to the fact neither of them would benefit from engaged strife when both could be learning about the other since both appeared to be from strange unchartered dimensions- he was a specimen to study under the close observation of examination; even if admiration had to be the pretence in the factor. Death, blood and destruction were all dancing on the perceptions, they were carnivorous hexes on existence that drove Atra with such ambition to be the destroyer or worlds while gods or universal epics created them, born from the mother and neglected by the father- abandoned to fester in their sinful Eden’s like cryptic lovers seeking the advance to sustain life by procreation. Everything struggled to survive, even the pitiful insects known as… mankind. How this dreadful King juggled life and death so playfully upon the tip of his tongue and she wondered where Ulyssiask had obtained such glib of silvered tongue. His persona being both deceiver and the deceived… though one more feigned than the other, a puzzle to decipher, the essence of the equation and not the hidden denominator.

Listening attentively, ruby-lustrous apertures blossoming into a roguish leer, the corners of her flagrant mouth rising like a crescent moon within the ruptured heavens. Even as Ulyssiask’s gloved hand rose close to her left side before adorning the obsidian juggernaut mount with that apathetic esteem, or at least that was how Atra defined it merely by action and never by assumption; she never made conjectures- only watched studiously to decipher by attitudes examined whilst he was in her presence. For the comments referring to ‘us’ or ‘we’ that in itself incited a low guttural chuckle, for it referred to her own essence and knowledge of these forbidden pockets in time, the truth that they were never alone and Atra was no exception even if she appeared to the contrary. Atra knew nothing of this Saqqara, even with all her knowledge it evaded her wisdom… that in itself was one thing that could never do, to know of every existence was the major key in universal and dimensional foray.  Conquest on a far greater scale; one that surely any Warlord will appreciate… if she so chose to share- what a shame sharing wasn’t in her moral fibre. There was nothing moral whatsoever about Atra’Lamia, and her loyalty ran thinner than water.

Achromatic mirrors moved askance towards the east, the location of the Chaos War Camps bordering the obsidian cliffs and that of the wastelands where provisions offered and conditions more favourable to that of a King, fine food and wine along with the perks of savaging exotic shores, then maybe… and only maybe Atra could decipher what it was she truly desired or wished- but that allowed so many expansive possibilities, the thought caused a cold shiver of anticipation tickling along spine. If the rich flow of crimson blood that Ulyssiask wished to discover while drifting or wandering across these diseased fields, he would surely find it in abundance. A strong hand reaching for the leather straps of bridle, the mount with snorting protest snakily throwing its head upwards, onyx mane billowing from the swift jerking motion to the right, forcora shifting as knee brought its powerful leg to dig at the parched soil beneath its might followed by a snorted nickering forcing spital and foam into the sweltering atmosphere. Quarters tensing, muscles and tendons rippling underneath the fine hair and powerful limbs urging to move, to storm through the fields and feel that blood soaking its pelt. It appeared most creatures all lusted for the same one thing, perhaps if Atra felt amicable she would share the glory of it, if only a slice.

Shifting her wicked gaze downwards to look up his strong features, the way his jaw tensed even when speaking with pleasing tones- a tense spirit or at least one who didn’t take his own words lightly; a conviction many lacked when speaking of themselves so highly and venturing across lands they didn’t know, he was either extremely courageous or very foolish. No doubt Atra would decipher the answer to that at some point during the interlude and upsurge of carnivorous souls. A question placed on her own persona, one that permitted the leer to form into a delighted simper, it left so much to the imagination and in truth there wasn’t much that Atra wanted or lacked- nothing that she couldn’t take for herself at least, whether by force of compelled natures of manipulation or prompt persuasion. Breathless, the chuckle caroused like a choking choir… eyes dazzling with the reflections of the burning Hyperion, rubescent apertures parting to allow her speech to flow like the streams of Acheron, cold yet burning with unusual passion.”Why… I want to be cherished, and my will to go undenied. I want not just this world but also every other world to crumble at my feet. Ambitious, am I not?” [/align:cfd5da8e82]

Sorry about the sucky reply babes, I had to do this at work. Next one shall be better, promise. -hugs-

[Ulyssiak]

"Why… I want to be cherished, and my will to go undenied. I want not just this world but also every other world to crumble at my feet. Ambitious, am I not?”  Ambitious indeed, Ulyssiask was highly intrigued, so much that the amusement was almost clearly painted on his face by both adoration and creases formed by the expression crawling under and through the skin of his lips and eye-brows.  Her words were perfect to him, flowing with what to his twisted perceptions sounded like pure innocence dancing against the raised hairs and sensitive chills along his flesh.  Even so far as to be like the pleas of a young child tugging on the leg of a towering father in not want, but need of the flawless gift merely because she chose to desire and lust after such tangible things – what to most others would be anything but tangible or even imaginable.  In fact, the thought of crossing such boundaries was something most could only ever find in their deepest and darkest dreams.  At this point, he was beginning to question how far-fetched any such proposal could be.  His perceptions were always lingering at the edge, but today they were drinking and bathing in the finest wine ever known; and in fact, he was quickly becoming drunk with its potent effects.  She had a silvered tongue as well, though rather or not this was her intention would never be deciphered, and Ulyssiask knew not that she thought the same as he.  Even a moment after her words trailed off in his mind for the second time as he contemplated, he hesitated on a response.  He wasn’t quite so sure of what to say this time; she’d left him in a series of very complex and second-guessed thoughts and replies, something very few before her had managed to do.  Though, it would be unknowledgeable to assume he had no response at all – the only hard decision was choosing which response to stick with, as at this point he felt like several men, all with voices of their own, trapped in one body.

At least a solid two minutes passed, and finally he broke his solid gaze into her eyes.  There was no denying his courage at this point, not even a man who was foolish rather than courageous would have been able to gaze so deeply without flinching or showing some sign of true intentions.  Then again, perhaps Ulyssiask was simply exhibiting a sign of slight insanity.  Looking back on his life and his upbringing, many reasonable explanations could be derived and provided as primary and contributing causes to his instability of mind; yet he was shockingly calm, firm in his ways, and acted perfectly sane.  In his mind, he was simply determined; that’s all life had taught him so far, to be determined, stick by what he knew and believed, and to pursue his wildest dreams.  If killing a King and taking his place as the new one wasn’t a good start, then Ulyssiask should have given up long ago, at the young age of seventeen years.  And to think, it was all over a misunderstanding.  Either way, the self-proclaimed God King that preceded him deserved his fate, and it was a painful one at that.  Death by the hands of Uly was always anything but a pretty sight, yet somehow it was always a beautiful tragedy at the end of the day and in some sick and demented fashion.

“I admire your words, Contessa.  And to answer your question...Yes, you are.  At least, I hope that you prove to be and I am not made into a fool.  I see your eyes fall toward those settling battle grounds - some victory you recognize, I assume?”  He’d watched every glance and movement her eyes made until the most recent moment when he looked away, and the first place he looked to was the same place she looked to satisfy his curiosity.  He was quick to catch on, onto hints and unspoken messages alike, even if she didn’t intend to send any such message or hint.  He perceived what he chose to perceive, it was his way of staying ahead and being the bold Ulyssiask that he was.  â€œLet us travel in that direction, perhaps there we can clear our minds and find a more suitable environment.  Though, I must say... a field full of dead bodies does seem quite suitable and fitting as it is.  It’s just not what I crave at this moment.”

After that, he released the reins from his grip and stepped away.  Further and further back, almost as if he didn’t desire her to leave his sight at all.  Ulyssiask kneeled down only to slide his arm into the fitted straps and anchors within the shield that his arm and hand bared against or underneath; and heaving it upwards, he rose to turn around and relinquish her from his sight entirely.  Toward his on-looking men he looked and raised his fist into the dead and still, lifeless winds above his head to signal for them to follow.  Finally, he turned back to Contessa and gazed slightly upward to meet what would be her equally returned gaze as pale and thinly sealed lips parted for the second part of his statement.  All but one thing about him was the same, and that was that he was more relaxed this time he spoke.  Deciphering rather he had let down his guard or was playing a game, or perhaps even just comfortable with the situation as it was, would be a most difficult part to play.  This intrepid man had many ways and just as many variations to his own persona.  Such thoughts were useless to ponder over though, and the silence was broken then.  â€œShall we begin?”

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:3e29906012]Could it be that this one was not seen or perceived as prey? Atra in her time had come into the graces of many great men, yet even they paled in comparison to this one… this one, whom held even the fates on his exhaled breath; who destroyed universes in those diverse eyes bearing reflections of all the horrors and destruction yet to be birthed. Much like the beast of revelations, the nemesis of existence itself- death in the guise of a stranger; an unsuspecting Trojan Horse waiting at the Gates of Troy, adopting and adoring beauty but in the same breath striving to eviscerate it. Of all the exhibitions and expressions to observe, this Ulyssiask didn’t give much away other than inquisitive, then again, Atra didn’t attempt to pluck at his thoughts like an angel would a harp… his words were enough to arouse the faintest of smiles, blessing the sanguine arches of those devious lips, highlighting chiseled features from the frozen landscapes displayed prior. Acrimonious flambeau’s pinned directly to his eyes before allowing the pleasure to animatedly fall and leisurely glance over his muscular physique, head titling to the left while long rivulets of midnight trailed over leather clad shoulder, black upon black like rolling waves of warp- to distort her own malevolency behind the visage that surpassed all the beauty the beloved seraphim.

Briefly attentions had passed from him to that of the distant triumphs ricocheting from the jagged barriers of the Obsidian Mountains, howls and blasphemous shrieks unto the ruptured firmaments of seismic breach; ash raining from the skies. Perhaps these were the scorched wings of those above, having been flayed from the backs of the Arch-Angels while they arched in rape and shame. Cinders as tears, blood trickling from the heavens in ruby-saturated globules only to burst onto the bodies of the broken, the fallen and the cursed; offering what little of benediction this hell had to proffer. The stench of Nergal rising from the festering masses of defiled warriors, impaled, dismembered, lynched from the inverted pylons of rising onyx- effigies of those who dare cross the Chaos Legions. For the moment the only sight which depicted the actual horror was that of the senses and imagination, the wars here raged for years, each battle quick and over with in a matter of moments before other legions gathered, preparing for the next onslaught and marched into tactical formats… setting up camp only to relish on the disaster of a blood-stained canvas from the millennia of conflict. It was a struggle to ascertain who was the greater of rouge evils, not even the Infernal Hierarchy dared involve themselves with the lawless, for should they fail… the renegades could gain control of the Infernal Empire, therefore Lucifer’s empire would crumble to dust. Heaven forbid.

Black effluences beaming with the malign mischievousness of her ‘true’ passions and desire, from the words uttered twixt venomous apertures and honey-dulcet cadence Atra didn’t need to ponder the response for it flowed ever so eloquently and mellifluously; like a symphony of darkness brushing against the wings of butterflies- barely a flung whisper… to capture his undivided attention once again. ”Is it your mind you wish to clear, or has the curiosity gripped your soul that you just have to sate it? You state you have a craving… prey tell what this craving may be; perhaps I can accommodate you… somehow?” Leaning closer, slender figure draped in the tourniquet of philistine-rapture, shimmering like the variable dimensions of night. Nostrils flaring just slightly as Atra inhaled Ulyssiask’s scent- chin ascending with the motion only but a touch away from his features while his hand still gripped the reins. He smelt of mortal man, something Atra had never really bothered with, none had ever been mortal whilst in her court… usually misanthropy took hold of her passions while blade severed their pitiful existence and it had possibly been only the potential written upon his destiny; that this man was destined for far greater things other than being but another victim to her insatiable cravings.

The reins of her juggernaut mount released, a step taken away from her just as Atra’s back straightened to fully elevated composure from her straddled position, long lithesome limbs pinned against the ornamental display of her stallion- back turned for a moment while he addressed his men and prepared for the advancement towards the camps that Ulyssiask suggested. Regardless of the fact his eyes had left hers. When he returned to stare back at Atra if would appear that not even for a second her gaze had left his façade or position, instantly returning just as his did and never allowing that contact to falter… an unnerving ability that many times had left her victims and opponents off guard, the creepy sensation of always being watched even when her eyes were busy elsewhere of significance and never of lesser importance. Leather constricting, the friction rasping against saddle even when she subtly moved, waist twisting to frontal position while hands wreathed in leathered grip forcefully snapping to provoke the attention of her stead to full military poise. Right hand gesturing with a flamboyant yet cynical wave in acknowledgement of Ulyssiask’s words to commence in their now shared path.

”These are uncouth men, not beholden to the graces you and yours have shown me- they are merely animals forged for war; those of whom my father betrayed and exiled them to wander the wastelands to be nothing other than food for the Lalartu or the soldiers of the seraphim… what a shame they didn’t recognize the factor that warriors never change their ways and when thrown to the lions their will to survive is greater when revenge fuels and feeds their bellies.” Applying a kick to the mount, though keeping the pace at the same steadiness as Ulyssiask, bringing her mount around to his right side and never advancing forwards or behind that of his gait; she was neither leading them nor holding them as captives and until otherwise conceived they would be treated as either, hence why she remained at the side, head grandiosely held with arrogance and strictness while they passed the stragglers wounded by the battle yet still able to slowly hast back towards the camp. Atra would offer none any aid, only the weak fall here. ”Your men shall be provider for, should you not wish for them to leave your side… then it seems my hospitality will indeed be stretched beyond that of the normal tolerances- yet it is a small price to pay for quality and not that of unfortunate slaves; I tend not to hold them in high esteem and you would be right not to trust me for I don’t even trust myself”

A slight smirk spoiled the smile that had dawned over perfected symmetrical horizons… passing the first signs of pillaging decimation; bodies piled while the harpies pecked at the foul remains, ripe with rot and decomposition. Some pinned to the ground with massive hooked lances forcing them to drown in the dirt and blood unable to raise their heads, hands futilely grappling the mithril shafts only to find they have not the strength to save themselves, falling prey to the ravaging beasts that scathed and greedily plagued the rotting ‘killing fields’. Hands shakily rising, seeking salvation from a far colder savior than death, for none here would ever know the peace of it. Once condemned on these plains, they got to suffer for all eternity in the deepest and darkest bowels of hell, the Sh’ol. Sporadically Atra’s left hand would untangle from the reins, digits furling around the inflicting weapon only to shove it with her own powerful sway, and apply the last fatal blow through craniums and abdomens… help them along their journeys of torment and pain, for it was one thing dying in the conflagration of the Infernal Fires but being branded a traitor and conspirator to the Emperor was another. Their names were not inscribed on the virginal parchment pages of the ‘Black Book’ they were purposely omitted, knowing judgment or clemency would never be known so internally they suffered greater punishments than just the scourges.

Crossing the fields were the sights became even more deliciously debauched, for miles the scene was the pictorial of sin against everything that was holy- masses nailed inverted on the crosses, every limb smashed and broken by strength and stone. The white’s of eyes staring wide bearing the macabre torments of that what had been ‘marked’ upon their souls and names. Crests of the Infernal Empire beneath each, stating that they had belonged to Lucifer’s legions and now nothing but fodder for the savaging carrions… banners torn, stained with filth and excrement marking the disrespect boldly exhibited. Casually Atra’s eyes moved askance to savor the vision, sanguine lips ever widening into that cynical smirk of appreciation, perchance if not even lusted by the thick prolific intoxications of coagulating ichors frozen within rigor mortis- the saccharine toxins permeating from the host while the demonic souls were ripped unwillingly and dragged down into the infernal darkness of the pit. The screams were music to her ears… and nothing could be more satisfying… well, not entirely true for she would think of one other thing that could mark this victory more benefiting to her whims; perhaps she would speak of it later or keep it to her own perversities. Ever curious, Atra watched for any reaction from Ulyssiask… it would be from this she would make her final conclusion.  [/align:3e29906012]

[Ulyssiak]

Across charred soils and blackened stone the four began to venture, and Ulyssiask heard her words before beginning the thought of a response.  The winds had become still and the skies were daunting in their red hues, the firmaments appeared as though they were ripped asunder.  Perhaps Ulyssiask truly had fallen into the depths of hell itself, though he’d never believe that hell was existent until proven otherwise.  Life had always been such a simple concept to him, being that his belief was to live, die and then be nothing more than a corpse overcome by decomposition – no prospects of an afterlife.  Of course, he was raised and molded to believe such things and keep life simple rather than complicating it with the nonsense of otherworldly religious factors one couldn’t even prove as factual.  This time around, his responses were almost hastened and without resistance or hesitation; his mind was in par with the conversation and flowing as freely as ever.  His gaze however shifted ahead of them as he began to speak, not gauging himself with her pace as any means of concern.

“A clear mind is desirable, yet curiosity is hard to cross when it is outweighed with apathy - of course, that depends on what we'd be satisfying a curiosity for... and of course you have my apologies, did I say that I had a craving?  I thought I said that I didn't crave something.”  Ulyssiask’s voice was slightly kinder to the ears this time, though still as strong and rasp as it always was in its most primal form.  As his last statement formed, a smirk slowly crept onto his face despite the resistance instilled by his will, the urge and muscle tension was too much to keep from showing the humor intended in his sarcasm.  Suddenly a man left for dead near a boulder caught Ulyssiask’s attention; the man was nailed against a thick wooden pole and raised into the air, then secured as the large post fell into a dug hole.  He observed the scene for a moment before beginning to break away from the side of the large juggernaut and to his own path off to the side.  Continuing forward he added to his response of her first question, “In truth, sometimes even I do not know what it is I crave.  Your accommodations sound most interesting, though.”

Towards the end of his statement, Ulyssiask had managed to break away from Contessa and his two trailing men, and around the backside of the large boulder that seemed to stand roughly nine or more feet in the air when atop its flattened peak.  As Ulyssiask grabbed onto the ragged edges he noticed that his position would place him coming up from behind the man nailed to the large post, and that the bottom of the mans feet were less than a foot higher than the top of the boulder.  All the same, below the man were nothing but the earth and jagged rocks appearing much like serrated teeth of an unimaginable beast to fall against.  And as he began to speak once more, the barely conscious man was already pleading, somehow led into the misconception that Ulyssiask was approaching to help him down and release him from his agony and anguish.  â€œTake for instance this man,” his words were once more stiff and rough in sound.  Now he stood just behind and to the side of the forsaken martyr, reaching upward with his own bare hand.  He drew a breath and grabbed hold of the nail’s edge protruding from the foremost flesh of the palm above the man’s head, forcefully twisting it loose and ignoring the cries of the man.  In the same instance, he raised his voice over the cries, displaying such disdain and carelessness towards the suffering his actions were inflicting.  â€œReduced and broken of his pride and esteems.  I'm sure that these nails are quite painful.”  Finally, once the rusted nail became loose from its thorough hold in the wood’s grains, Ulyssiask quickly ripped it out from the post and the man’s hands; and in doing so, the man began to fall forward, overcome with sensational pains.  Before allowing him to fall, Uly released the nail and placed an open hand against the man’s chest, catching him and leaning him back against the post.  Now the man balanced only on a nail through his mid-section, and a nail through his ankles.

Among all of the movement, the martyr of a warrior – or dead man – became almost lifeless due to the excruciating sensations.  Ulyssiask’s more grim and odious behavior was beginning to show, displayed brilliantly by the expression that had suddenly become solidly embedded against the slight smile and burning eclipses within those concentrated eyes he possessed.  After pausing for a moment and observing, he went on further to finish what he’d begun in enjoyment.  â€œHe probably wants that pain to be relieved.  And these cuts and wounds, he is probably craving anything but salt right now, even his own sweat burns as it drips down, dries and leaves only that very salt on his bare flesh.  And let us not forget the thought of being stripped of his fate, ah yes... nailed against an upright pole, doomed and forsaken - left for dead even!  He'd probably like to be pulled down, and perhaps for you to heal him with your kind and gentle touch for the next several days.  I mean, would you really consider that a craving?”  He posed an interesting question and held his right hand out openly to his side while glaring toward Contessa.  His voice had slowed to a calm and apathetic tone, resonating and literally symbolizing the cruel intentions he’d deviously plotted without showing any caution or foretelling sign to any of the others.

“If so, then by all means... I should probably help him out and... give him what he wants.  Relief - that is what he wants isn't it?”  Ulyssiask rested his left hand on the hilt of his blade at side, and slowly his glare toward Contessa fell downward as did his right hand and arm, until it came to rest by his side.  For a moment, he contemplated some unknown thoughts that could not be read by the sudden empty expression written on his face.  To the side like a sweeping and darkly intended glare, his eyes came to rest upon the tortured soul yet to be released from this miserable world.  And immediately following his intent glare, his right hand ascended to gentle rake fingers and nails across the front of the mans body – chest and abdomen, as if taunting him of a fate now being realized.  And just as quick as the man felt his mortal fate approaching, he began to faintly cry and beg for a difference of judgment only to find Ulyssiask tilting his head, and as such the yells and pleading increased more and more until it ascended to screaming.  At last, Ulyssiask spoke and with an ending statement that tore the man apart and left him in immediate tears, “So be it.”

As cold and spiteful as he could possibly be, this was the way Ulyssiask preferred to be.  And he’d lived this life learning that no matter how horrible your actions, if you fought hard and strong and stayed true to yourself, no other man could force you to suffer the consequences.  With one step back and an effortlessly acquired balance, he raised his left foot – closest to the man he stood behind.  A sudden thrusting kick, and the Saqqaran displayed an act of cruelty rarely rivaled by the actions of other mortal men – and as the final scream emitted into the atmosphere, the cartilage and bone of both abdomen and ankles shifted and cracked aloud as the man was heaved from his hoisted position.  Downward into the open pit he fell to meet a sudden stop after a short drop, only to be quickly silenced and most gruesomely impaled by the jagged teeth-like rocks that’d been awaiting him.  In the silence that followed the moment thereafter, Ulyssiask stepped forward and looked over the edge underneath his feet to find in his sights the bloodied corpse.  To break the silence, his wisdom followed, “I do not think he’ll need your kind and gentle touch anymore.  I did give him what he wanted, though.  He begged for it, and I granted it.  One must be careful what one asks for... relief, ha.”  He chuckled at the mere thought of such a concept – one intended for the faint of heart.

A slight shrug of the shoulders and careless sway of thoughts to other more relevant matters, he turned and walked to the backside of the large boulder he stood atop to work his way down the sloped side.  After climbing partially down, he simply released his grip and jumped to the ground –red plumes gracefully bent downward and brushed softly against the steel of his helmet.  His sword and sheathe clattered just barely within a frequency that could be heard, and his shield touched the ground, outweighing the strength of his arm and pulling him downward before catching himself and standing into a straightened posture.  Upon resuming pose and capturing view of the land before them, Ulyssiask walked casually back to the side of Contessa and her juggernaut, and continued on their shared path.  Along the way, he carelessly stepped on the back of two men, one of which grabbed at his ankle as nails drug against the leather straps tied against Ulyssiask’s ankle to hold in place his sandals.  In response, Ulyssiask only stepped hard and ripped his leg free from grip, no regard for the fallen would be granted from him.  His emotion toward her actions too remained without expression, as his eyes continually stared into the open fields before them and his lips curled in neither direction.  He simply did not care either way, and was only interested in her singly – her actions and words against others didn’t have an effect upon his judgment, and therefore did not arouse conviction just yet.  As they arrived near the camp grounds shortly ahead, Ulyssiask seemed to suddenly deem it an appropriate time to begin speaking again.

“The will is a powerful thing, especially for survival; but all too often, it is far too late to begin believing and making an effort when one lacked the will to survive from the beginning.”  In this instance, he glanced upward toward the eyes of Contessa with a dignified and concise sense to his statement ringing in his voice, a deeper tone raring outward as he no longer felt a need to talk above any foreign cries or pleas, and no longer stood far from her but instead at her side.  Casting his left hand just barely outward from his side, Ulyssiask signaled for his men to depart paths with them once more.  They needed no instruction but already knew the will of their king, to explore and gather knowledge to be relayed to him if of relevance or benefit.  And so Cyrussia and Llumeth began to head slightly to the south-east, to the side of the ranks of legionnaires and warriors, whereas Ulyssiask and Contessa seemed to approach the heart and bulk section of the campsites.   “My men will be fine with your blessing, no need to extend your warmth further than necessary.  I will only trouble you with tolerating me, if you will have me.  You've left me with an interesting question of course - what is it I crave?  And even further, can I be accommodated by you?”  Glancing down for the last time that he intended to cast his glance down rather than up or around, he displayed a kind smile and slight laughter from deep within his throat, heaving a strong breath from his lungs as a chuckle forced its way up and through his lips.  Around them now was warriors and corrupted men of the sorts and in variety like no legion of war Ulyssiask had ever seen, and he took the opportunity to observe this interesting place for the first time that it actually affected him and made him realize the depth of his surroundings.  It was no rude awakening, but certainly he had a jealously of such a large and apparently powerful military system.  Though, he finally looked back onto her to pursue further conversation, in the interest of learning her.  â€œThis too is strange and interesting... I seem to recall previously asking you what it is you truly wanted.  I suppose now it is my turn?  Well, perhaps I too want to be cherished, for my word to not be questioned, and for the world to crumble at my feet if I so desire.  You speak of every other world, I only knew of one until now.  Then again, perhaps I crave something much simpler.”

Here, Ulyssiask came to a halt.  He and Contessa were now surrounded by men on all sides, some observant, others practically careless.  What a man of such strange appearance Ulyssiask must be to them, such light clothing and armor, and only one weapon on his person to fight with.  Uly was more than aware that he probably appears laughable to them, and of a different world, perhaps even an insult to them or their culture.  No matter, he was in the company of a woman who truly interested him – he’d tolerate no interferences.  And here, Uly removed his shield and helmet, placing his shield on the ground with its outer side against the soils and the helmet on top of it.  Again, he glanced toward Contessa and began to speak, and this time he sounded very sure of himself.  It was anything but foolishness, though.  â€œFor now, I only crave your company and presence.  And while trust is never something fully granted, I trust you plenty - rather it is wise or unwise.  You wouldn't try anything against me; we've already come too far for you to have intentions.”  He glanced to the shores off in a short walk of distance, and before allowing anything more than a brief interlude between his words he made a proposal.  â€œWould you care to take a walk with me, alone?”

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Sorry it's not better hun, this is just what came to mind and so it's what I managed to put together.  Will be better the next round. <3

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[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:e533af2852]The words of Ulyssiask intrigued her, but of course no such thing or thought would be given away, if anything would be seen it would be exhibited to the contrary. Noticing the smirk, but not accustomed to his body language and any other visible signs of his meaning and definition for every word retorted in return to her mental probing; still, for now she remained silent, just observing movement and the way his eyes scathed over every inch of surface to their surroundings until something else caught his attention… some fallen fool decorating the effigy of all her abhorrence and loathing- in the effigy of symbolism that drew curses from the blackness of her own abysmal eyes. Ceasing on their path only to study the scene about to unfold, pain inflicted, torture with a promise for release… though noting how twisted some liberations can be; how perverted and misinterpreted such mistaken words can usher hope only to be horrifically disappointed… yet delicious to one such as Atra. Tongue flicking over the lower arch of rustic-red lip, leisurely… slowly in anticipation… slender yet curved body forming to an arch at the back whilst shoulders were drawn backwards to accentuate bodice and the enticing contours beneath. With every painful infliction, that tongue swept again over lip before vanishing back behind the symmetrical folds of lustful sneer- madness fluttering like incandescent flames to the center of those crepuscular orbs; of charred black flames and the radiance of chthonian vehemence.

Head cocking to the side as if to attempt to imbibe the essences of pain and fear which fumed from his victims body like the most sweet of perfumes; well… at least to the palate of the Countess. Watching the nails being forcefully pried from the restricted limbs… which pinned him there like a crude idol… cries and whimpers nothing but a lullaby to her ears, wooing her into a state of intoxicated bliss. Even closing her eyes for a moment to relish in the pain filling her senses with a newfound rush… senses soaring only for the briefest of moments before snapping open with a solid and unwavering stare upon the man who clutched at Ulyssiask with that same hope she had seen in many before; that desperation for their pitiful lives to be spared or healed. A pity and mercy she didn’t know nor had the desire to learn. Atra did not respond to the rhetorical question or example of craving shown in the evisceration of the man, abandoned to a cross, with devil sewn to tongue all the while screaming for the angels to bring emancipation from the clutches of demons and fiends. Instead she simply watched and found amusement in the morale to this display of parody and conundrum- of screams, pleas, curses and final penance before bones audibly snapped, before being thrown to an awaiting tomb of rock and ash; death immediate upon impact.

Observation cherishing the vision of recollection, the man’s face just before he vanished over the edge… the decadent horror displayed in his eyes while gnarled fingers grasped at the air only to find nothing… not even a guiding angel to soothe the anguish. Cranium returning to grandeur, as Ulyssiask gloated over the shattered remnants of the man while again speaking- Atra listened attentively, though not understanding fully about the touch of her healing hands when no request would ever be granted, and it was certain she too would have liberated the fool but not because he craved it, but because one pitiful creature lurking was one less to contend with, and she so despised those who complained. Then again he was correct about quite a few things, and certainly one must be careful what they wish for… for there is much room for elucidation on the lips of a dying man, not when they truly crave to survive. Most creature were afraid to die, it is what lays beyond, the unknown which scares them into radical situations which ironically bring them into the cold clutches of death… and the thing they fear most, emptiness and blackness.

Again they continued their path, Atra remaining silent for the majority of the time, left to her own thoughts while every now and again her eyes cast askance to Ulyssiask then back to the frontal direction before his eyes would drift to notice. His men would no less be graced with the tolerance of ‘guests’, or if Ulyssiask desired no more than those of the hordes gathered around bomb fires throwing the living into the hankering flames as if they were nothing but fuel for the cause; and indeed… that is all they were. Celebrating the victories with sacrifice, blood and other unspeakable acts of rape and blasphemy heightening the frenzy by war drums and incoherent chants- the closer they approached the louder such festivities began, mocking the Imperial Infernal Walls with debauched display of subordination… tempting the hordes of hell to unleash its bitter spite, and spew forth its bastardized legions. The stench of burning flesh emanated in thick piquant fragrances, teasing the senses with its pungent intrusions- sickly sweet. Words danced on the tip of her tongue… sanguine lustrous apertures holding them back on purpose, instead displaying an arrogant, ruthlessness to the front of those uncouth, untamed beasts that gathered in awe or question as to the reason why she had returned with strangers… those whom could easily be imposters. Trust was non-existent to these vagabonds as with loyalty.

Pacing her obsidian mount almost right against Ulyssiask, with the slightest of distances apart while those whom gathered in a massive flock began to step back, crude weapons held up at arms- misshapen, chaotically formed barbs, rusted blades from years of blood adding interesting concepts over metal dramatically fashioned to resemble jagged maws and elongated limbs. The arrangement of beasts  forming a double row leading towards the main artillery, commanding camps and leaving no room for any other path to be taken, there was only one way in, and one way out. Indeed the numbers were impressive, stretching as far as the naked eye could see- many beaten and injured but still capable of the fight. Those captive hanging by wrought iron cages like birds of war only to be speared by the honed spikes jutting from the interior of the cages as men tugging at ropes violently swung to and fro. It was only then, when they had ceased motion from outside the main camp, that Atra tugged on the reins of her proud stallion and finally dismounted… and handing the massive beast over to a sniveling ghoul whose limbs were twisted and malformed, hideous to behold. Black beady eyes staring Ulyssiask and his men over, giving the third degree before ushering submission with a series of quickened nervous bows… haggard midget legs scuttling away rather swiftly before vanishing out of view.

Pivoting on the heel of boot to bring her body back around to face Ulyssiask, her height far less impressive than his let alone her actual build, so miniscule and finely sculptured as if she had been created by an artists fantasy than naturally produced by nature herself; beauty so unreal yet fully tangible. Taking a few steps forwards, breaking the distance between though first addressing him in regards to his men ” Your men may find nourishment in the company of my own quarters until more suitable arrangement as made, I shall have food, wine… women….whichever appeals to their hunger and thirst brought to them. If they desire to rest, replenish energy- I will see to it personally that they go undisturbed- however I do not recommend they wander, those here lack the decorum you and your men have so graciously exhibited.” Allowing the words to drift from her cerise apertures, lulling with opiate tones before continuing directly to Ulyssiask, again moving though this time around from his right to behind, then emerging to the left, circling somewhat as eyes examined at a closer advantage. ”Ah... but I tolerate all in your company… at least… for now.” A cold smile flowed over apertures as she once again stepped elegantly around him, posture fully erect with shoulders back, bearing the grace of a swan or simply that of a skilled predator.

”Only you know what it is you crave… see if you can taste in on the tip of your tongue, or feel that knotting uncomfortable sensation to the pit of your stomach that twists and turns like a knife. As for accommodation… and if it is in my capability to do so? That is for me to know; and you to find out” Smirking, the mischievousness blatantly obvious with no means of concealment: cheek bones lifting only to illume as if an evanescent light glowed for a moment within; a spark igniting with the piceous flambeaus of her eyes with an eerie opalescence before extinguishing back to the darkness. Conversation continuing as she took another carefully placed step, left foot before right as leathered limbs danced beneath the tourniquet, captivated or appearing to be in his very presence where everything else on the outside ceased to exist. Listening to the last of his words before allowing those lustrous lips to slowly part before salacious timbre escaped in riposted prose ”This is all I have ever known…but it is just as empty as it is rewarding- and none of my cravings are simple, they all come with a price” Shrugging, the smirk widening over her features as they began to walk at his gesture to do so, Atra not even noticing or returning any sign of obeisance paid unto her in veneration of those around them, instead rising her chin higher.

Not needing words to provide an answer to his question of taking a walk alone, ”Perhaps I may try something against you, then again perhaps I shall not… and maybe we haven’t gone far enough for me to determine any form of intention other than this moment… of taking a walk?” Atra smiled just subtly as a chuckle escaped while not in the view of those menacingly standing, watching in wonder, jealousy or envy while steps were taken closer to the shores of the Blood Sea of Ishtar, where the crimson luminance of the water reflected onto the pure porcelain complexion of her flesh. Coming to an abrupt halt, and again turning to face Ulyssiask ”A simple craving granted… now tell dear King Ulyssiask are you sated, or do you crave more?” Snickering in muted jest, turning slowly in angular position to look out over the ocean with an expression of malign contentment, the corners of her sanguine lips curving upwards, faintly noticeable from behind raven strands as incorporeal digits caressed the long cascades away from her face and over sculptured shoulders. Basking in the silence until his words again soothed the muse to sing.[/align:e533af2852]

[Ulyssiak]

The ‘dear King Ulyssiask’, the first supreme ruler and Ithae to all of Saqqara to be so human and real – emotions and rational thoughts, all things a mere man would have without plaguing himself with all of the pointless drama and hesitations – strides by the side of a Countess unlike any woman he has ever met before.  His silence is daunting to the regularity of his usual responses, and even to his own mind.  Everything he sees, hears, and perceives… they are things of a world far beyond and unlike his own world.  He listens to the words of a fellow Warlord, this Countess – ‘an angel among fools’, so she is suddenly deemed by the thoughts crossing his mind, perhaps a quote or thought from another lifetime or place unknown to the temporarily finite reaches of his mind.  And despite the words, the images and scarred warriors, the horror and blood-soaked earth, and everything else that surrounds him, his mind obsesses over the name; Contessa.  As she concludes, her final question strikes him deep and hard, sending him back more than a decade in time as his thoughts venture inward.  Indeed, he has always held the bravery to look in himself, to search his own heart and mind, and what some may even call soul.

Her exact words sound heavily like the thunders of a storm, just like the deep roar that clashes and shakes both the heavens and the earth, making the heart skip a beat and the breaths taken shorten, “or do you crave more?”  And as he recalls a moment in his past, he lets out a light chuckle that claims only one exhaling breath – he finds both humor and humility in the thought.  He reflects back on one of those fateful days in his past, one of many, a day his father gazed into his eyes and made a bold statement, almost a question of faith.  â€œTake my hand, and you shall never fall.”  More than anything else, it was a promise being made – and he took that hand, that day.  The King also feels an eerie chill, as though he has made that same proposal to another before, in some other place; but for once, he cannot recall who, where, or when.  All in the blink of an eye, though.  Ulyssiask does not spend much time dwelling and in only two seconds of contemplation, what to the two of them is enough for the fate of worlds to change or end, returns her gaze with one of equal strength.  Deliberately, he steps to her frontal view, ending their stroll across what was now soft sand sifting beneath their feet.  The crimson glows allow his colors of war in clothing to blend into the background, but only intensify the brilliance of deep and dazzling green eyes, and the barely noticeable ring of yellow hue just around the edge of those now dilated pupils.  He draws a heavy breath, almost as if his statement yet to be made is weighed down with burden, but reveals no emotion.  Such a stern posture, and a direct gaze commanding her equal attention, to demand a gaze into those gateways to one another’s worlds, ‘souls’ – it is intentional, for he is more than an island to himself.  He does more than just pause before speaking, after that breath.  He waits, patiently.

“I am never sated, Countess.  Insatiable, just as you are ambitious.  Careful though, do not so quickly forget our lesson from earlier.  â€“Not all is as it appears.  It could be that I crave more than just a walk, but as you said… that is for me to know, and you to find out.”  Ulyssiask draws his words out, aggrandizing the accentuations of each syllable and especially the consonants in this instance, almost to the point of being grueling.  It was no mind game, no test or trial.  This was simply the King forsaking his place in life, acting not as a King or the so-called Ithae, but as a man; an equal, no titles or evaluations based on status – just a man and a woman on a beach.  This was Ulyssiask being himself.  For him, the moment that captured the essence of a dead-on glare was over, whatever feeling, thought, or emotion he may have instilled in her was irrelevant.  She would perceive it however she pleased, and like him or dislike him more or less.  He wouldn’t pretend to know, but calculate that she would grow to like him more with every moment they accompanied one another. Casting his gaze to the ground, and then to her right, something catches Ulyssiask’s attention.  With back turned to crimson tides pushing in, Ulyssiask forms a more bold posture once more, narrowing eyelids and focusing intently.  He mumbles just below the sound level of smaller waves rolling over one another and crashing against the sand, “What is this place?”  A reference not to the world around him, but to what he looks upon…

In his sight, a fallen temple reflects crimson colors and the glare of the heavens from above torn asunder.  Dark and shaded figures move into its confines, out of sight as they fade into the darkness.  Broken and torn pillars that were once mighty and beautiful, now reduced to bloodied headstones for long dead priests or worshippers of the temple, mark the entrance.  For an unnamed and peculiar reason, Ulyssiask finds himself being drawn to it.  He has no choice but to pursue his curiosity, to sate his insatiable appetite for more and more.  The King felt a spontaneous impulse.  He takes the first step towards it only asking, “Come with me?”

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:9912b680ea]Caught in the moment, perhaps slightly off guard to response or thought entwined and placing more of her eyes on the actual scenery and away from his striking façade; psilomelaine eyes bedazzled by the umbration of the swarming darkness that ebbed at her sinuous thighs while the garnet resplendence shimmered from the surface of sanguine waters lapping the charred shore… blood over brimstone. Ulyssiask’s stature moving forth, coveting the view and yet bringing into perspective something unsuspected, bewildered in those hues of gilded verdant greens inspiring Atra to look down towards the terrain and focus there without staring back into those emerald chasms in case she cared not to ever return… those depths an ambrosia, or Lethe to be cursed. However, her graces weren’t so rude, or condescendingly dismissing, attention clearly displayed as Atra’s ears perked to his words. Only then did her eyes finally lift to grace her acumen once more… his timbre almost soothing in comparison to the usual jumbled dialect of graveled discourse and cacophony- briefly concealing those diabolic flambeaus behind dew-eyed divine lids, lustrous lashes fluttering to the stimulus of visual silence, or to conceal other revelations brewing through the mirrors of her ‘soul’, or rather essence. Basking in the ambiance of those ‘inner’ instances were the darkness seemed at its most welcoming, embraces her lithesome limbs with a sinister tenebrous affection- for his voice calmed even the roughest of seas, at least within Atra’s spirit.

Unsure of what his words were intended to mean, and not assuming enough to define them in her own elucidations or knowledge, therefore taking the words just as they were uttered, for whatever they were worth she would not instill her own ‘desires’ on that of his dialect- instead arching an eyebrow in question of what could he possibly want, other than a walk and exchange of knowledge, after all that was all she had other than death and conflict. Again, yet another intrigue to be explored and exploited, that was far safer, more predictable than the other ‘sensations’ stirring from the interior vault. Destructive habits and something else foreign amalgamating from the threads of frozen prisons, oozing out in portended poisons to pacify the beast- in all its ophidian glory, altogether beautiful cruel and deadly. Scalpel adornments clicking against the hip of constrictive swathed leather which surmounted limbs with toile and iridescent pelage; argentation of polished silver over black only adding more contrast to that of Atra’s monochromatic splendor. Not noticing that his eye had wandered to another place, one of significance, though most whom dwelled in the pits of fire never dared to venture- perhaps they feared in glimpsing at themselves through the eyes of God let alone Lucifer?

It didn’t take amazing perception to hear his question, whether of not he actually asked seeking answer or placing it upon his own awareness for examination under the looking glass, rhetorical in his own wonderment or bewilderment, whichever it may be, Atra made an obvious gesture to overlook it, unless of course Ulyssiask inquired directly without mistake. Atra knew nothing of his world let alone the reason why he was here, it did cause some suspicion, perhaps the seraph were becoming more cunning in their ways and methods of delusion and tactic. Then again, he was mortal or at least under the normal code of such governs whether of the world above or other dimensional diversities, his heart still rhythmically drummed against the cavity of his chest, lungs expanded to draw in breath then plume it through those captivating lips. In all complex barriers and acceptance, him and his men shouldn’t be here nor had any place to be here and yet, perhaps she wouldn’t permit them to leave either- there was a reason for this ‘crossing’ and come hell or high water, Atra was going to find the key to unlock that reason.

Making a pivot on purpose, back slightly turned to Ulyssiask, aphotic eyes glancing back over towards the location of the camp before chin ascended towards the blackened firmament swirling and gyrating with crimson tempest and the abyss- forming a portal affect just over brimstone mountains; causing her eyes of narrow in heinous contempt. Were her father’s precious dabblers in those vile dark arts… summoning ill-wishing over the renegade hordes? Some pitiful sorcery worthy for mockery unleashed in the form of miasmic murderous winged specters- fallen Angels of Death? Slaughter the fiends whilst in drunken celebration… seemed the most regal way for the Princes to distinguish enemies, their hands were dirty with the filth of cowardly deeds and her father wasn’t resolved of these if anything… branded with the mark of cinders, his light would be extinguished. Not noticing Ulyssiask’s advance to the direction of the decrepit temple only roused to the incentive and his request of accompaniment. Riposting in rapid elegance only to reach out and grab towards his right upper arm while Atra’s head shook to state negative refusal ”You wish to go where the first of us fell?” A seconds pause before continuing, eyes intense and beguiled with an illumination, twin crescents, or burning galaxies.” To some it would be an insult… and to others… a reminder of the shame… to have their wings severed by the swords of Michael, Raphael and Sachiel- some of us only have pride ...for that is all we have left.”

Releasing the grip from his arm, hand falling back at her side only as attention returned back to the scintillating sky above, maybe there would be no other choice to venture where his heart wished to go, there would be no way they’d make it back to the sanctuary of the camp protected by the wards and numbers- out here they were alone and that wasn’t exactly an ideal situation to be in. Glancing towards the ‘temple’ then back to Ulyssiask, apertures parting only to allow a bridged sigh to escape twixt claret apertures, ”As insatiable as you may be Ulyssiask, some things are not for the eyes of mortals, not permitted to be their knowledge. However, I am not in the position to debate for better judgment it seems we have an underlining influence impending… neither of us are in a very good predicament, it seems you win this simply by default, and I, being the gracious hostess must comply to your… requests. After all I did ask now didn’t I, if you craved more.” A sly smirk graced those devilish features, taking a few steps only to saunter in front before him then cheekily turning her chin to rest over shoulder whilst gazing back at him ”You coming? Or shall I send you an invitation upon a silver platter my dearest King?” Placing the emphasis on the ‘dearest’ in her enchanting dulcet cadence when addressing him either in sarcasm or embryonic… affection. [/align:9912b680ea]

[Ulyssiak]

Ulyssiask stepped forth, taking no hesitations and grasping the moment for what it was worth.  He felt free here, despite his mind being chained down and enslaved to his past and all of the memories that constantly deluged him.  This Countess intrigued him, attracted him, and appealed to senses and curiosities he’d rarely and most probably never felt before.  From moment one she’d proven, she was no ordinary woman.  He felt as though it was time to awake, the fact that he’d been awake for days and hadn’t stopped for rest at all had little baring on his intentions.  Charismatically, he stepped up and kept pace to stay close enough to her, catching scent of something he hadn’t smelled in longer than he could remember… something he called ‘beautiful’.  She was quick to take off without him, step past him; this Contessa was witty and charming in a most unique way.  He wouldn’t be outdone, though.

“A silver platter would be nice!” – A sudden remark with an extremely sarcastic tone and curve in his lips that couldn’t be removed with even the greatest imaginable pain or displeasure.  Their pace was suddenly heightened, the frisk of playing games with one another in initial conversations, getting familiar with a new person; Ulyssiask felt an unusual liking toward Contessa already.  â€œAnd yes, it’s entirely your fault.  You did ask, after all.  And beside that, who said I have mortal eyes?  I may be an ordinary man and an ordinary King, but I assure you… there’s nothing ordinary about me on the inside.  Or maybe I had my eyes removed and magical ones put in, you never know!”  Ulyssiask couldn’t help himself, he had always been a strange individual – it’s only natural that after talking with him for a while, one would hear something awkward or strange sounding.  At least his humor was genuine though, despite often used as a façade.

The sands of the beach quickly ended at their pace, and rigid rocks began.  It would only slow them slightly, and allow time for the humor to die down as they approached the structure.  The place where the first of them fell, Ulyssiask felt deep curiosity and a desire to find something – it was luring him in.  The skies darkened overhead, they were approaching peaks that soared toward the heavens from the earth, ragged and tarnished by weather only a hell could furnish in such fashions.  Ulyssiask stopped just shy of entering the temple, a shadow was emerging; a guardian or protector perhaps, but appearing to be more of a disgrace to even the lowest on the scale here – humanity.  Bathed by the darkness and shrouded in dark cloth, a shrill and grainy voice demanded their halt in coordination with a raised hand signaling them to stop.  â€œYour place is not here, leave.”

This world is not what Ulyssiask knows as home, he could easily fix the problem in a manner he felt fit, but it wouldn’t feel right just yet.  The Countess seemed to have memories less than fond of this place, so he would leave it in her hands to reply.  His gaze came to meet hers should she look his way, and he waited.

[The End of All Light.]

[align=center] “Your place is not here, leave.”[/align]

[align=justify:b3c2c393de]Tall, gangly and unsightly beneath hooded vista concealing features and those gleaming eyes that appeared more like pinholes through the darkness beyond yet somewhere behind the midnight veil a shred of light, life or knowing remained; even if it was an illumination of shame, upheaval and mockery of all that it remained or stood to protect…  a structure that none here, even in all their insanities would ever contemplate exploring let alone breaking the hymens of secrets which rested hidden in the dusty vaults like some abomination wanting, wishing to be birthed. It was never in a lady or her ethics to divulge all those questionable secrets, and sure enough Ankhnesmira had enough to behold to dazzle even the most virulent of historians and scribes, but ah… it would be so sweet to prove them all wrong and upstart the basis of all faithful religions.  It was there lies they were left to worship, just like this poor unfortunate creature whose purpose was to safeguard those very lies, and hide them from the light- she was not here to question these charlatan beliefs or superstitions imbibed by her own mother and father or those foolish enough to have fallen because one strove to dominate man while the other wished to be just like him, equal to the heavens.

There was no possibility the jaded old monk, or whatever he professed to be would recognize her unless of course he knew Lucifer, personally or fell to the charms and spells of Lilith, though Ankhnesmira took more after her father by appearance- so perchance in that alone, if these tired old eyes bothered to see beyond the guise of hidden masks and masquerades, he would have seen before those barriers were dropped and placed to the ground like a dying infant for the maggots to devour. She knew Ulyssiask wouldn’t place himself before her in this circumstance, and despite his eagerness to learn of this ‘new’ place to his memory, maybe his eyes had laid focus upon this place before… from wherever his eyes had emerged from, a sorcerer, a diviner or some old lost soul long bereft to Death’s cruel scythe? Regardless of originality, his soul wasn’t of the mortal initially derived; then again she hadn’t taken the time to see beyond the newer vigor that was his essence. For a moment Ankhnesmira remained silent to consider her own words, while allowing the false façade to melt away like the benediction of Babylonian water’s… only to reveal the very mystery all the hellish prophets had failed to detect… until this very moment.

An outstretched hand, commanding them to halt, to return to the waste where hence they had come; it was not an option to consider for the oscillating tempests above bore down with much abhorrence and loathing to the very renegades below, even Ankhnesmira knew then that the majority of the  rogues would have taken to the underground to sit it out, while listening to the massacre above of those foolish enough to think their blades were to the match of the very angels who had thrown them to the dogs originally, discarded them from their precious City of Hades to live as nothing but scavengers…if they had been lucky enough to escape the dissection of spirit and body. Within the winds talons and upon bitter tongues she heard the whisper of their names, taunting… jeering… speaking their intentions on those who dare defy their emperor, Lucifer. Just what happens to traitors and lechers… which in all context, was what they were, murderers of the fallen, the bastard children of Lilith to some other exiled demon, devil or god. Being an outcast was Lilith’s penance for her unfaithfulness, cast out to the wastelands where her great city was borne, built as a permanent reminder to Lucifer or her ultimate betrayal far below the watchful eye of the empire, the spires and lofts towering above from the jagged peaks taunting the ebony firmament and the fiery Hyperion of the furnaces where sinners screamed repentance to deaf ears.

Beauteous features fell to ice, frozen with unsympathetic consideration to the Guardian who stood to halt their entrance? Ravenesque slender brow arched in defiance to the ever so rude gesture against her person, pointed fingers accusingly assuming that SHE had no place here, when in actual fact she had just about as much right as Lucifer himself to consider this as a shrine to failure.  Extending just an inkling of her mental influence to entwine around his fingers, unseen force bandaging around fingers to force them backwards in harsh and brutal snaps, one by one in accordance to where her eyes moved, from thumb to smaller and more slender finger; each and every ’CRACK!’ audibly heard along with the forced dullness of agony singing twixt clenched and spiteful teeth hidden deep in the shadows of cloak. A mellifluous step forward, another ’CRACK’ breaking the silence along with a sudden ’BOOM’ of thunder above? Or was it the very gates of heaven opening, bringing forth another surge of angelic attack? Another step, this time the left leg of the guardian/protector viciously giving away from the invisible force slamming against knee to upper thigh causing it also to fracture, though this time precutting a more louder, satisfying holler of pain. Then the right… weight giving fully away to the onslaught of limbs, bringing the phantom-like figure to its knees.

Another step forward… then another… Ankhnesmira’s head dropping slightly to permit those now glowing eyes of pearlescent fire to burn down upon the broken form- sanguine apertures curving into a coquettish and malign smirk while sardonic, acidic words oozed like poison from betwixt the gates of heaven ”My place is not here? And yet… my heart is locked inside this sick shrine like a trophy of all YOUR failures?” Stepping in front of the agonized effigy, right hand lifting down to ensnare the guardians face hidden in the shroud only to force it upwards, forcing him to stare into those eyes… the eyes he would know if he had been one who guarded the fall or had been there to see the magnificent display of angels crashing upon the very stars, only to fall and pierce the womb of earth. ”Be rest assured… this is my MY place, just what a shame you won’t live to see what I intend to do with it!” He would have no chance to speak her father’s name, or utter any information that would lead to what exactly who she was in the pantheon of hell… not that it would matter to Ulyssiask, possibly but certainly to those whom stood in defiance of Hell and its legions. A brutal twist, compelling force from the chin to neck that would result in the instant fractures traveling along the vertebrae of the triangular bone connecting to neck and spine- severing it completely.

However she didn’t cease in just a simple 180 degree turn, instead continuing with the follow of motion to completely twist the head from its socket, slicing tendon, muscle, and bone to render the truck headless. Not even turning back to see the reaction of Ulyssiask, for no doubt he had seen it all, if not worse… still it was amusing enough to see one of her stature and size best a man three times her size in only a matter of minutes without even a flint of emotion. Feet shifting, stepping askance to the side with head in hand, walking towards a broken pylon before the entrance… impaling the head… twisting to ensure it would not simply fall off and in fact it would remain there for all time… the wet, squelching sound while bone crushed and snapped to the intrusion of foreign matter… yellowish fluid seeping down the surface of brimstone only to drip to the crimson soaked ground below ”There now you can watch all you like… be the silent guardian you should have been and learn… if you had remained silent, you probably would have lived to see what the prophets ignore to see…oh well… liberation isn’t for those who are prisoners to habit.” It was after these words that Ankhnesmira finally turned around, to look upon Ulyssiask… eyes gracing along his form from the feet to his face. Left hand gesturing before her to enter into the place which he found intrigue … far be it from her to intrude on another’s fate… regardless of what those whispers revealed.

”Leave? How rude… we just got here!” Rolling her eyes in mild amusement to the cretin who suggested it ” You would have thought it could have at least invited us in for a cup of tea before dumping the doom and gloom on the moment. Tisk! Just when I was enjoying our little stroll across the sand, what a shame we weren’t hand in hand, it could have then at least been slightly… romantic.” Chuckling a little before making her way inside the threatening arches of the temple displaying silent sentinels looking down mournfully with downcast swords… inscriptions of burdened threats and gullible prophecies chiseled into the walls… entering darkness. It would only be dark for mere moments before torches caught ablaze at the very presence of HER though Ulyssiask would probably think of as nothing more than magick… though it was far beyond the fickle wish of elemental manipulation, it was more that coerced because she was there… that she was home. [/align:b3c2c393de]