Message of the Day

I'm getting so sick of these double standards. Burn a body at a mortuary and "you're doing your job" do it at home and you're "destroying evidence".


Name: Vile'erianna ( Name known only to her contractors. )

Alias: Sergulath Verrine, Hale Drix

Sex: Female

Age: 20-something immortal

Species: Unknown

Face claim: Beatriz Mariano

Origin: Summoned from another dimension

Summoner: Faustus

Profession: Enchantress

Sexual preference: Ask

Height: 5'7

Physique: Lithe 

Distinguishable features: As Hale there isn't much you could say is unique. Black and blue hair, pale skin. Heavy on the make up, couple of piercings. But as unknown, that's when things look up. Jet black hair, equally pale skin. White on white, eyes. Pointy, elf like ears. Don't forget the fancy spacers. There are times when Hale will shed a tear. Like her blood, they are black.

Currently: Getting her bearings @ 100%

Residence: Looking

Inventory: Fist full of keys. None of the likes you've ever seen. Anything else she's picked up since her summons can be absolutely random. Everything of which she keeps in a tattered duffle.

Weapon: Spells, majority of them she doesn't need to chant to cast. She has these nasty vile bombs she's concocted herself. They come in an array of colors, all of which possess their own attributes. Secretly she possesses a hidden dagger that's laced with her own kind of poison. All it takes is for this poison to get into the blood stream. 

Talents: She can change her appearance. Look normal if her actual appearance proves a bit, uncomfortable to some. Even if her choice of appearance is a bit, intimidating.

Hobbies: Doing a little of this and that, nothing serious. Unless you want her to. She likes driving up the same old mountain. Same one she has since she's been on Earth. Drives up it, lets loose before spreading her arms and diving off. Wind in her hair and that rush that makes her feel alive. More alive than she ever did.

She likes to play a little poker, hates to lose. Bets nothing but money unless you want to make it interesting and bet something else. Like a demon she will make a bet every once in a blue moon. She loses, she owes you a favor. Working her magic she can make it happen. Gold? Money? Someone dead? Yeah, she can do it.

Personality: Hale isn't shy. She's not afraid to speak her mind or weave a spell. But she usually doesn't need to utter a single word for that. Frigid, tease, loner. She's been called everything, but no one knows her at all. Of all the years she's spent here on Earth she hasn't let anyone know her. Feeling if she did, it is the end of her. Hale is short tempered, especially during any sort of game. Mainly poker. 

Many Faces of Hale: Hale has one face and its the only anyone ever sees. Though it might look different under some circumstances. It is the same woman, always. No matter the color of hair or eyes. Same Hale. But then there are the other sides of our Hale. For instance, how does she travel if not by vehicles. She either walks or runs. Funny thing when said she runs. She doesn't do so on two feet, but two. Being who she is, Hale can take forms. Her favorite, a large black german shepherd.


Background: Before adopting the name Hale and becoming a resident of Earth. Some estranged dimension was her home and being a creature of power is no stranger there, or uncommon. It is a way of life, kill or be killed. And Hale had plenty of notches to her belt that she'd become notorious really. Taken a fortress to the south with a small group at her heel, obeying her every word, falling so that she succeeded. 

On the verge to execute a campain against three houses she soon finds herself being pulled from her dimension by some off looking individual. He calls himself Dr. Faustus. Observing eyes look around and when she comes full circle, she's looking back to him. He was gawking at her, found her .. odd. What's so strange, she thought to herself. Back home she's normal, like Faustus is normal in the eye of his own.

She demanded what he'd done and he explained. A bit intrigued, she sat down with Faustus and both talked till the sun came up. Hale shared a bit of things with Faustus and this inclined the man to share a bit more. Stories of him and some demon by the name of Mephistopheles. Back home, there is no such thing as demons, devils or angels. Not even gods. There are dark and light forces, but that's it, they are just forces. Without faces. While the inhabitants of the world she is from are what make the world turn. Beings of pure power. A balance if you will. You either side with the light or dark, there is no wrong or right. 

Inquiring about the supernatural here, Hale is engrossed she hardly blinks or breathes. She is at the edge of her seat. It's then that she decides to stay behind and not bother Faustus with a way back. 

" Why did you summon me Faustus? " Unable to not ask the man why. She had to know, it made her curious. Elbows on the table and inclined, Faustus explains.  He had her absorbed into the details. While distracted, Faustus drew something down the line of her throat. Hale jumps back and wipes fingers across what he'd done. It doesn't come off. Making her glare across the table. " Sneaky mother fucker. " Words like venom, she narrows her gaze at him with a murderous intent.


Curling her fingers as she holds her hand above the table. She spoke not a word, but something was cooking in that head of hers. It takes seconds before Faustus feels some effects of something she's done in kind. He had attempted to bind her, but while she reacted quick enough, he found himself unable to complete his novice try. Looked like he hadn't used this on anyone before until now.


She had to commend him for trying. Grinning, she thought it would be gift enough. Faustus asks about what she did to him and Hale smiles wider. Eyes going white and hair bleeding black she says to him. " You won't be able to work your magic on me, without pissing yourself. " Literally, Fautus tries and finds himself pissing himself. Right in his chair, looking down he is left dumbfounded. Parlor tricks, was all this she was capable of? Wanting to provoke her didn't escape Faustus, but he refrains himself from doing so. He had to plan carefully before he made another move.

Faustus, Dr. Faustus

{ npc } fc: mads mikkelsen

Human, but more than human. He dealt with a demon and made a deal. He required all the knowledge there was. Everything though, is at a price. Whether he neglected this is entirely anyone's guess. Even Faustus himself didn't tell Hale that evening when they sat at the table. 

What Faustus did share with her were the more simpler things. Extent of his research, to the unfathom truths that lurk the shadows. How deep the power of the light can reach. Then there is the inbetween. Hale asked all sorts of things from him and he obliged, giving her the information as best as he could.

From close observation, Faustus lives alone. Simple home dead center of the city. There are no fortresses as Hale remembers from her dimension. People walk amongst the themselves, mixing and never going at each other's throat.

" How odd. " is what she thought when she witnessed this with her own eyes. Even asking Faustus about it.

Though the years they worked along side, and when she wasn't around he dealt under the table. Apparently with that same demon. She never asked about it and went with what little Faustus shared with her, openly. He kept his research on her a secret from her. Working up a plan to try and bind her, extract what power she posseses and he knows it is a font he wants for himself. Milking every bit of power from her like harvesting a grape. He knew that she would be aware of anything he might try, because she'd see him piss himself. Frustrating as that is Faustus isn't that stupid.

To date, they continue to work along side. But their run ins are a bit more less frequent as they would have been in the past. Modern times have settled, world keeps changing, but so has their practice. He keeps more secrets, and she doesn't share as much as she did in the past. Makes Faustus wonder what she's up to. 

Ever since their unannouced fall out. Both have gone their seperate ways. Keeping their communication to a minimum. Faustus has gone further out into the country side of Germany. While Hale travels, never staying in one place for too long. 

Guilty of pleasure? In their frustrations there might of been a night or more that both rolled in the sheets. Nothing too secret that they would hide it. Neither hung over thier sexual encounters. They took it as a duty done on an everyday basis. Refreshed they could look their work with fresh eyes.

 Hale's current situation: At this moment, Hale has done nothing but live her life on Earth while saying goodbye to her own dimension. She never did bother Faustus to return to back home. Because that required finding him and getting back her fucking name, which, he took. That is not always an easy feat, but geezer found a way. Hale's real name is no secret and can't be used against her. Doesn't seem to be in th is case, Faustus managed to take it and use it against her. Not to banish her, but to try and take her power and more.

With Faustus now missing and Hale wandering the world, leaving her mark in her wake. She's come across something that has left some impression. And that's arriving in Germany after so many years. Once there she decided she needed to unwind, to do that, she needed to play a little game or two. Which she does, after slipping into a casino there. The place isn't just your typical casino, no. It's run by some big shot, overseeing the place from his perch. Now this son of a bitch doesn't  always leave his office. He likes to stay there and survey, giving him that god like authority and feeling.

He'll throw his weight and power around if anyone lets him. He smells of old blood, but that's about it. On a side note, he goes through his bitches like a woman does her underwear. No one talks of what goes around in there, and plenty goes on. The illegal kind of shit it's funny. Then in comes this punk and starts shit at a table, and if you haven't guessed, that punk is none other than Hale herself. Pissing off a regular gets Hale noticed, if the rukus she'd started hadn't already. She had gone for the cheating dealer's throat, but in the process shoved a few patrons and ruined their game. People are so picky these days that a fight like this wouldn't have been uncommon.

Getting dragged away and to this big man's perch, she learns  a few things. There are some really interesting people on this Earth. That no matter how many times Hale gives up on them, there is always one that comes out of the wood work and surprises the fuck out of her. A deal was struck and a threat was tossed on the table. Kill and earn your freedom, which she would have gotten even if she hadn't killed as demanded, was the deal. Plus a bottle of fine whiskey as a gift. Hale didn't take well to the threat, but she didn't do anything about it neither. Instead, proved to be quite the interesting woman to the boss man of this casino. She gives him plenty of other confessions of her destruction during the years, to use to his disposal and prove to him that threats don't work on her. Neither does the authority that rule these lands.

Hale takes her leave, but does so with a little something. If what she did makes you curious, why not ask?



Emmalynn Wilkinson { npc }

British girl, auctioned off to a Heinrich W. Schultz. Whom so kindly threw the girl away for reasons that only he and a Hale Drix are aware of. Throwing her away has placed Emmalynn in the keep of Hale. From one hand to another in seconds.

Age: 24

Occupation: Hale's accessory

The Contracts

• F A U S T U S - Alchemist, and culprit for summoning the Enchantress to Earth. Bound her to him with some set of rules. Though he could have kept it a secret from her. He felt that if he had, he would have come out of this a mad man. Unaware of the gravity. Faustus put himself into hiding, though still feels her hand on him. Every time she devours, he feels himself drowning in her lusts, her powers. They are too much. 

Etching onto her flesh, against her will. A contract that would merge their lives together. Gaining from her immortality as well as a list of things he was never capable as a man. Playing with spells, and potions that lacked true power. Once he had Hale, she breathed life into his research. Amongst other things that he now regrets.

H E I N R I C H - A man turned immortal by contract. Has willingly given up his humanity, surrendered it to the evil deeds of the Enchantress. Who's name at the moment was Hale Drix, but now known as Sergulath Verrine.  Her contract with Faustus now done, and the man who summoned her finding his days on this world numbered. While passing her dangerous gift onto her next contractor, Heinrich W. Schultz.

About Hale: Be aware that she is the kind that gets in your face. Doesn't know how to stand down. She takes what she wants no matter how she has to go about it. That means getting her hands dirty. She hates anything prissy good. Everything to do with the light she will want to quash. To the point there is nothing left. Anything of darkness she becomes either curious or obsessed with. Stalking is in her list of things to do. Something she is no stranger to, or afraid to do. Confessing to it is kind of funny to to. 

Where you can find her, come across her are the usual places she frequents. They are as follows:

  • Anywhere she might find knowledge. Nothing too modern, like a library and stuff.
  • She hasn't gotten with the times, so computers, cell phones are a no. Hale doesn't own any electronic device. She prefers books, something more hands on and tangible. Pages, covers etc.
  • CASINOS, Hale is infamous for gambling, perferably poker. She torched a table once because she found the house was cheating. Hale hates to lose. { It doesn't matter where in the world these casinos are. Choosing one is bound to result her being there. }
  • Night Clubs, there are times she likes to get her freak on. Usually when she can't progress on her research. A drunken stupor aids her to ask the strangest of questions without suspicion. However it always ends in a bust.
  • No where the type to take long walks. There will be a time when she must set on foot for supplies. Visiting a shop that sells what she needs, even if it's a substitute, one is bound to cross her. It isn't hard to pick her off the crowd. Black rooted hair that transitions to a cold blue-green tone. Strange choice of wardrobe that can be best described as alternative or gothic in some cases. 

Hale's personal life:

  • Unable to love, or fall in love. { Same thing. }
  • She uses sex as an outlet for her frustrations.
  • If you want a relationship with her. You are more than welcome to try. But know that she won't love you. Only because this relationship will be one sided. { Refer to # 1 }
  • Cuddle into her for whatever reason and she will vex you.
  • She doesn't share her secrets or spells with just anyone. Earn her trust and we'll see what happens.
  • Never lasted a day with someone because either they walk out for lack of emotion or she walks off. Because she's not the relationship type.
  • Hale doesn't mind persistence, but it doesn't change anything. She won't change her mind. { Refer to # 1 }


I'm making available some scenarios you are more than welcome to use if you so choose so. This information will be here in case you, fellow writer, are unable to come up with something for a starter. In case that you find yourself in a fix, writers block or something else entirely. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me via messages.

Scenario # 1 

Hale is near where you are and she's probably picked up your scent. Currently in her black German Shepard form, with her nose to the ground. It isn't your particular body odor she's picked up. But rather your magic. Regardless of the layers of protection, to hide your true nature. Hale is always able to smell those barriers far more than the magic your hope to conceal. She does not intend on killing you, or capture you. But need to taste you. How she goes about doing so is up to you.

Whether you run or face her, is also up to you. Full on combat with the enchantress will prove at first, difficult. Like yourself, she has many protections. Years of protections. Needing to be taken down one by one. There is no way, no possible knowledge that you might have in your possession, that will help you successfully tear her barriers. They are built by level, mental and then physically. Each possessing a number.

And if the thought of killing her ever crosses your mind. Know that she is tied to someone. And while that someone remains out of reach, from her and anyone else. Killing her won't be possible, because they both would need to be killed at the same time. 

Scenario # 2

Across the street is a rather large dog. There's nothing strange about it, other than it has no owner and that it is obviously starring at you. It makes no move to charge at you, it only looks onward with curiosity. At least that's how much you can deduce from where you're standing. You debate on calling to it, see if it's friendly. But then there's that sinking feeling that tells you to leave the dog alone and be on your way. Whichever choice you choose. The dog starts approaching you. And as it comes close, you notice it's strange eyes, which, are faintly glowing a blood red. Especially when light catches in them. It doesn't make any hostile notion towards you, but it doesn't look to be afraid neither.

The German Shepherd follows you should you choose to walk away. Looking over your shoulder it pauses, sitting back on it's haunches. Waiting on you to start walking, it follows. Not till you reach your destination or think to confront the situation that things begin to unfold. Reasons start to emerge, boredom, entertainment, excitement, death, etc. Worded carefully or with an aloof sense of self. For the dog proves to be more than just a stray, but a woman with some intention, reason to have followed you like this. Is there something after you and not just the woman. Hale gives hints of there being more than what it seems. Though she doesn't get to the point right away. Plays this as some sort of game, but carefully. 

More scenarios coming soon.


 ✔ = sent - ❌ = owe -  = plotting -  … = pending - = you lost me

  1. Heindrich W. Schultz -  ✔
  2. Mephistopheles -
  3. Finn O'Connell -
  4. Maso Vieri - 
  5. Vexx - 
  6. The Black Dog -


  1. Respect me how you'd like me to respect you.
  2. Your character doesn't know mine. Because they just met.
  3. Going by my profile. It doesn't tell other writers that my girl is all about smut. She has a sick way of showing how she feels, but warm loving isn't one. So you gotta be one damn special person for that kind of writing to happen.
  4. I don't care who starts. Paragraph minimum.
  5. Replies will be sent in the order they came in. If you want to see if yours is coming up, look under the   acknowledgements.
  6. Dark themed, violence, gore, language. 19+ preferred.
  7. Please no god moding. 
  8. Don't kill my character.
  9. Maiming is acceptable if it's with permission.
  10. Please, read the profile. It has the information you are looking for. i.e. where you can meet her or where you can find her. Asking me first hand tells me you just scrolled all the way down and just commented. Know her and it will make things easy on both of us.


Ooc ranting:

  • Looking for threads.
  • Anyone got a little Faustus in them that they'd play him? If so, come hither.
  • I'd like my profile covered in black, so is there anyone know the css to edit the comment editor?
  • Check me out on my other alt, Tifa Lockhart!


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  • \\Good lord, I'm so sorry for the late reply, I've been sick lately and haven't been all that active. Did we ever decide on who was starting or we haven't got to that point yet?

  • \\You'll find Kross taking part in illegal fights really, as for city I really don't have an exact location for him, he tends to bounce around from time to time but for now, he's located in Maryland for now until he moves elsewhere if that helps out in anyway.

  • /I know I owe replies. Please bare with me. Running a bit behind on stuff, and work comes first. Unfortunately. So, just a heads up! ^^/

  • \\Hmm, honestly I'm not sure how much of a retired war commander would be of any use to your character but if I have to try and guess....I suppose she comes across him, he's part hellhound and part lycan so....I guess that his flames is what would draw your character's attention perhaps? 

  • Finn sips from the edge of his glass, then he downs the whole bloody thing and sets it back onto the counter with a clink.  There's little to no taste of alcohol-- just a heady mix of fruits and chocolate-- but there's plenty of alcohol in the mix, three shots worth o' whiskey, if not more.  But he wouldn't count himself among the true bred Irish if he couldn't hold his damn liquor.  Damn good shit though.  Hell of a kick.

    "What, my hair?" He quirks a brow, reaching up to loop his index finger around one of his many wild red curls, then drops his hand and shrugs, keeping his other hand gripped firm on the shaft of his spear.  Just in case.  Even if Hale isn't a Bacchant--she's otherwordly and strange.  He sees the air shiver and quake around her, a certain wrongess-- that tells him she doesn't belong.  Although, in a way, neither does he.  So he doesn't hold it against her.

    "Go nuts, I guess." his bindings are still in place- she could pull his hair as hard as she wanted, and she wouldn't get any to come loose from his scalp.  His head is more likely to come off his neck.  So he only quirks his brow up in surprise when she gives his hair a tug, then he laughs shortly. "Ye lookin' for horns? Ye won't find any.  I've got them hidden wit' a glamour.." That's not true at all.  Although he is under a glamour, of a more sophisticated nature.  It clung to the surface of his flesh, keeping his tattoos hidden from view on the 'normal' spectrum. 

    He laughs again, shaking his head at her and turning his head away to mask his grin, and the tinge of red creeping onto his pale cheeks.  Dammit all, someone my age should be so much cooler. "I can't bloody help that I've got a fit ass, now can I?" His lips part as he prepares to respond to the woman's claim that she can feel something, something not human.  Something not Finn, clearly.  When he's not standing on natural Earth, his magical reservoir is damnably low.  Weak, it might seem.  Although his brand of magic is rare in itself.  But he is human-- at least--he was.

    Before he manages to formulate any intelligent words, though, the blood rushes from his brain to his dick and he snaps his mouth shut before he can say anything stupid, shivering hard as a strange magic wraps around the protective cone Anharda allowed him.  

    The same strange magic that fills the air like pheromones; warm and tingly, whispering unbridled passion and wild desire, and it began infecting the entire room-- in masses.  People started tearing their own clothes off-- and then they started helping everyone else get naked, too.  All the while they were trying to kiss and lick and grope and stroke every bit of flesh they could find-- not even the tables were safe from being molested.   In a matter of seconds, moans and groans of pleasure and ecstasy begin to drown out the music.

    Finn, red faced and unprepared for the sheer force of the alien magic manages to muster the most intelligent "Uh.." and casts his glance to the dance-floor. "oh, fuck."

  • \\Sure, I would love to write with ya ^^

  • Insipidness; nothing was ever unproblematic or unrestricted—everything had a fee, everything had vile significances that one had to meddle with no matter the instance or circumstance. Yet, the German steadied his métier and prepared for the wickedest of all conclusions, a ruthless, malicious anguish that would have him wriggling and yelping for the nearest encouragement or relief, suppliant and yearning for the everlasting clemency of God, the Almighty, only to reject Him after he succumbed to the nuisance that would bequeath him with the encirclement of the condemned, for Hale, to Heinrich, was impartial and considerate, even for a demon of her competence.

    As she tore open his suit and had buttons thrown into the environment around them, taking perception of her chest, as she drove a knife to slash at what she wore hazardously beneath it, exposing flesh and inscriptions of the Devil, astonished by how rapidly she had reached for his left arm, the arm of sin itself, for the Right Arm belonged to God and no vile power on Earth or the Plains of Existence could challenge it. Then, he surveyed her, as she bit it into, provoking a mild grimace from the German, trivial and short-lived, infinitesimal, almost irrelevant to him until she returned to the fresh wound, inserting her tongue, producing the mixture of their lifelines, a sweltering, blistering warmth conquering him without cautioning, enthralling him with sheer, idyllic exasperation, shrieking, stirring underneath her weight, disconcerted, fidgeting and drawn to produce his escapade from her.

    He was impelled by the reminiscence of the shrapnel and of the unforgiving, undying affliction that it had provoked within him as he stood merely meters away from the radius of the detonation in Afghanistan. The metal had punctured his thighs, his chest and his arms. It had been burrowed deep into his flesh, but, fortunately, it had not been sent to cavernous nadirs of his body. Their removal at the hospital was fortunately fruitful after he had been rushed toward it by his comrades. Similarly to how he had felt at the hospital and over the comfortable, white bed, he coasted into the acquainted standing of insentience, awakening suddenly as adrenaline was injected logically into him, breathing, gasping for air as he was welcomed by the stark-naked view of Hale Drix, blood-stained, with a malformed dagger conjured in her grasp moments later, speaking a tongue that he, fathomably, could comprehend without any difficulty at all. Disordered, sexually stirred and engrossed by her figure and stance, his cock tented beneath the arse that had him restrained down in place, prodding up at her as he witnessed her rancorous, gruesome beauty, taking a hold of the knife she had offered him, memorizing every word she had spoken before to him, agreeing to them, managing to sit up, approaching her naked chest, merely inches away from erect, crimson nipples and lithe, wholesome breasts, reciting her words in her mysterious tongue, adept and fluid with every word:

    “I, Heinrich Wilhelm Schultz,” he confirmed his identity, beginning to etch the words upon her flesh with the summit of the dagger just underneath her chest, an excruciating, intolerable malady surging over his own chest as magma began to brand them into him, searing and overwhelming, struggling to continue, yet moving onwards, “…surrender my humanity to the unknown.” He was crying by now, spilling beautiful, beautiful tears for her. “…Bind you—SERGULATH VERRINE—to my will, inherit power from you. Eternity awaits me, but so does an everlasting darkness from where there is no turning back. Death holds no reign over me. You are my ward against all ills. With your blood, time stops as the world moves on. My destruction gained only when you meet someone of equal value to your own, but that is information is only gained by my contract.” He concluded with a groan, lowering his gaze to his chest to find it alit, returning a glance to hers, falling back unto the floor, dropping the knife, feeling as it rolled out of his palm, away from his reach. He was feeble, yet the contract had been sealed and Heinrich was now bound to her for all eternity, until her death. He felt immortal, as if she had breathed down upon him to awaken him, to remove all impurities and imperfection, to perfect all perfections in his mind, in his absent soul and in his flesh, for he was lust and he would only long for more of this fraudulent, incessant supremacy.

    “YEEEESSSSSSSSSS!” he shouted, muscles strained as his veins were strained by a force of the unknown, screaming loudly, wondering if this all would end, quietening down, laughing, laughing so hard and loud that he could not hear himself in his ponderings until he halted, sapphires locked unto her. “Sergulath,” he muttered, “…you are mine.”

  • The clammy, soggy tongue against his velvety, warm flesh had him shudder from the repulsion it provoked, quavering from the sensation she had deposited within him in a matter of seconds. Its obscurity, its length and the corruption it brought him had him panicking beneath her authority, taking impression of its succulence and calamitous humidity, his head digging into the marble flooring below, as if he could escape her and the reach of her blackened, torturous tongue.

    “I deny nothing!” he shouted back at her, spitting words that meant everything to him, frozen in time as he permitted her invasion of his privacy and personal space. “I loved every single minute of it with every single woman,” he confessed, language rapid and hastened as his thick, German accent took over to command him, revealing his honesty to her, his face reddened as his apprehension began to develop in pulsating waves of excitement. “I enjoyed it, very much so. I was fascinated by their expressions as I ripped out their hearts, as I tortured them over beds of blood, of fuckin’ Blut, schönes, schönes Blut,” he continued, smirking at her as best as he could afford to do, nearly cackling along with the irrationality that had plagued his mentality, famine riddling it. His body twitched underneath her, tongue clicking against the innards of his mouth as he prepared to speak yet again to her.

    “I’ve murdered many and I’ll murder more, Ms. Drix,” he stated with might. “I’ll murder every whore on the streets and I’ll make sure they all suffer, for they are sinners and God, the Almighty, he has no space in Heaven for whores!” he proclaimed, sanctified. “Hell awaits them, yes, hell itself. The pit from whence you came,” he professed, enthusiastic and loud with his words. “I killed them all to send them there, to cleanse them of their impurities, so that they no longer may suck cocks or fuck any,” he concluded, pivoting his eyes to the side, glancing back at hers to stare in awe, amused by her presence, by her power, overwhelmed suddenly by the vanquishing of his torments, by the war that had fragmented him, by that which had weakened his abilities as a male of superiority. Abruptly, he no longer felt the anguish of the mother and the child; he could no longer envisage the demise of his many comrades amongst the grime of the battlefield; he could no longer speak of the shrapnel that had been embedded countless times into his body. It was all such an alien sensation, yet it was paradise, bliss as its finest, at its core and at its peak!

    He gasped, breathing heavily as she retired her cold face from his warmth, longing for more of the power she had bequeathed temporarily with. Instinctively, he dragged her closer to him, pressing her against his body to welcome the familiar sentiment of supremacy. With the promise of being reborn, of being a new man, of eliminating the horrors that poisoned and contaminated his precious, precious mind of ponderings!

    “Yes,” he first murmured, ecstatic, “…Yes! I accept your deal, demon!” he assured, confirming, sealing his fate with the woman above him, drenched in the blood of others, tainted by that of the various reds, content with her offer. The devil had come to greet him, to aid him, to put him in a position of advantage that could not be contested by any other mortal on the planet. God, for the moment, could no longer retrieve Heinrich from his own doom. Trickery was the primordial law of devils and demons, of fiends and of rotting, flesh-eating monstrosities. Heinrich was no saint and had never been—he hadn’t been capable of acknowledging God’s Word. Alas, he had failed Him and God had failed Heinrich. “Bestow me your power, for I yield and I receive you, Drix,” he murmured, enlightened by the future, expectant of the knowledge that would soon enter him. Without any weaknesses to speak about, Heinrich knew he would feel too commanding and authoritative.

                    There he then laid, awaiting his ascension to glory, unpolluted, unadulterated magnificence.   


  • The screaming and screeching is horrid, a nightmare by itself, a torment of voices, haunting the man as he fled down the hallway to the elevator, rapidly pressing the button as much as he could afford until it rung and the doors were opened to grant him his safety. Into it he stepped, pressing the number of his floor, leaning against one of its corner to breathe in and out, overwhelmed, acquiring a sensation of vibration that had the whole building quavering as if an earthquake had struck it without any display of mercy. He feared for his death up until the elevator’s doors sprung into life on his floor, shoed feet rushing down the corridor to his room, crashing through the door, throwing it closed, panicking, reality altered and fluctuating within his corrupted mentality, images appearing, familiar shrieks of dismay invading him, revulsion dominating him as he no longer inhabited the land of the living, but of the dead, falling unto his rear, uneasy and anguished by the situation. The visions of the war had been welcomed and he had no control upon them whatsoever. The woman on the desert’s sands had exploded once, twice and thrice in front of him as he held a rifle against his chest, armored and suited-up for the scorching heat of Afghanistan. That woman had had a child and it had accompanied her to his death, too. Heinrich could have avoided it all, yet he stood there, observing, captivated by the beauty of death and its amassed destruction. Such horrendous thoughts had him quietened on the marble floor of his hotel room, with legs brought to his chest and arms crossed on them. A moment before, he had been a man of strength, a force and an authority, yet now he was a child, fearing for his existence, assured that she was doing all of this. She had been the responsible.

    Could he curse a demon? Could he scream at her in pure hatred? He could not do a thing about her at this point in time. Powerless, he heard as the knock produced itself on the door, echoing repeatedly in his mind. He stared at the door for a whole minute before he gathered the urge to stand, obeying her announcement, respecting it with all he had within him. He’s all too serious, never displaying external fear. His innards quivered, nonetheless. He could only afford to hide it to a certain extent. Now on his feet, he approached the door with caution, placing a sapphire over the peephole to gawk at the familiar, dreadful illustration of Ms. Drix, the vile woman in charge of all of this. He took a step back immediately, grabbing for his gun to find it was missing from his holster, now an illusion produced by his mild insanity.

    “W—where’s my … gun?” he inquired himself, patting the entirety of his body in search of it, looking everywhere in the room for it until he surrendered, staring back at the door, slowly walking toward it to open it, ignoring all she had said during her wait. If he had had his weapon, he would’ve welcomed her with it and a threat, trembling and fearful.

                    “What do you want? What the fuck have you done to me?” he questioned again, maddened, filled with a sweltering fury that emanated from every one of his pores. His Spheres of Sapphires had connected with her own, feeling as his soul was being drained the more he stared into hers, deviating his gaze, dizzied all of the sudden, falling back once more unto his side, a headache impeding him from thinking too deeply. A hand surged to soothe him, compelling him to stand again, unable to.

                    “Just tell … me!” he desperately shouted amidst his delirious confusion, demanding whatever she requested. “Do you want me to admit I’ve sinned? Has Satan finally sent his whore to claim my soul for all the women I’ve murdered?! Is that it? Are you here to punish me for the evil I’ve done? Do you want my soul? Speak, wretched, fucking fiend! Speak!” he commanded in his stupidity and idiocy, crawling away toward the nearest futon in the hotel room to give himself enough leverage to stand at least on his knees, gazing up at Ms. Drix, who still stood by the door, probably laughing to herself.

  •                 This curse of a woman, Ms. Hemsworth, was potentially proving to be more of an advantage than an obstacle as his mind brewed up a concoction of ideas to draw from. His options were clearly limited and only restricted to what he could manage to do near Ms. Drix. He could not afford anything else beyond it; if he played the dangerous game, he would probably lose at it, provoking his demise. Uncomplainingly, he only gawked back at Hale as she laughed at him from a distance, mocking him for whatever simple reason there existed. He, for once, was nervous, idle and in thought, evaluating his surroundings as best as he could. What could he do? Ah, yes, Ms. Hemsworth! The only viable action was to approach them as a married couple since they also seemed to be together, despite Hale’s refusal to even touch el-Hammond. He’s settled on it, walking toward them, suddenly halted by Ms. Hemsworth as she’s about to question him.

                    “Where are we going, dear?” A great question. He hasn’t really decided to speak to her to enlighten her with the news of his vile plan. Perhaps she served better as a distraction? Security was tighter than ever before and she could hypothetically confuse his target with utmost accuracy. The light bulb thickens in his mind and the radiancy is powerful. At last, he has got it in his grasp, manipulated and in control.

                    “Dear, can you do me a favor?” he inquires, smiling to her, releasing her to come face her, hands placed over her sides. “Could you go over there,” he pointed to a corner of the casino, “…and yell murderer after shooting this gun?” In his hand, he has a pistol the size of a palm, a Russian firearm chambered in 9mm.

                    “Now, why would I be doing such an infantile act as that?” She was laughing, too, giggling mostly.

                    “Because I’ll repay you handsomely,” he sultrily whispered into her ear, promising her the time of her life.

                    She’s quiet in seconds, planting a peck on his cheek, gyrating to walk away from him and toward the corner, sitting by herself close to the bar, ordering a drink.

                    Heinrich is satisfied, returning to heed attention to el-Hammond, circling behind them, Hale always wary of where he was. He waited, gun held in hand, secluded by his back, out of sight thanks only to the crowd that surrounded him. His Spheres of Sapphires are on Ms. Hemsworth, taking note of her stance, of her posture and of her intentions. Abruptly so, there’s a yelp after a gunshot, humongous and horrific, exclaiming the word he had ordered her to shout out with passion and dedication. She’s squealing for help, gun on the floor, hands pointed toward the would-be murderer, praying for the aid of a savior, for someone to come as she falls to the floor with her purse. Everyone turns, eyes are on her and fright invades the scene. Everyone shrieks, then, in pure unison. Cacophony and pandemonium overtake the casino. Heinrich is calm, however, raising his silence pistol as Hale observes him, as Hale witnesses him, viewing her vile smirk, as if she’s demanding him to pull the trigger on el-Hammond, as if she’s going to reach ecstasy if he does. He does so, pulling on the lead, thunder muffled amongst the shouts and the chaos, three bullets penetrating the man’s back, blood soaking his attire, body falling to the ground to thud with disgrace.

                    Heinrich’s gone then, evacuating the location as everyone else is doing, a last gaze given to the demon. He’s on his way to his room and the music keeps going as a pool of blood is stomped upon by the stampede.



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