#Mavromino

[huntersbrotherhood]

Sephiroth

Guardianes y consortes del primer orden de los dioses, los Sephirii eran soldados que hacían cumplir las leyes originales del universo. Durante la Primus Bellum, el Mavromino se volvió contra la Fuente y trató de poner fin a toda la creación, por lo que los Sephirii se desataron para matarlo. A su vez, el Mavromino creó a los Malachai para derribar a los Sephirii. La mayoría de ellos volaron hacía las trampas, pero sobrevivieron suficientes Sephirii para declarar la guerra a los Malachai, y los habrían destruido si no hubiesen sido traicionados por su líder Jared. Cuando la Primus Bellum finalmente terminó en una tregua, todos los Sephirii y Malachai debían ser ejecutados, pero la vida de Jared fue perdonada por lo que podría sufrir una eternidad de esclavitud y tortura como castigo por su crimen. Como el universo requiere de un equilibrio, la supervivencia de Jared permitió que un Malachai se escapara también. Debido a su naturaleza como guardianes de los dioses, no pueden dañar a nadie nacido de la fuente, tales como dioses, a menos que hayan manifestado la intención de perturbar el orden de la Fuente, como el Malachai. Sephirii es el plural de Sephiroth.

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[indurarinks]

AZMODEA’S FLAVOUR: HORROR

“Where is he? Bring him to me.” In a steady, crisp tone, my command rang through the room. Automatically, a group of low level demons set out to carry the order in a hurry for they knew upsetting me could only result in added misery for them. None dared to voice their complete lack of knowledge on my sweet delicacy’s whereabouts. Despite the ancient age of each one of them, cowardice persisted as the most common disease amongst this species. Ah. How I miss the good old days of war where boys, knee-buried in guts, shit and blood, came out men. Fearless of death after courting it so intimately on the battlefield. But demons, demons stuck to themselves since the dawn of time, incapable of standing up for themselves or fighting for honour or glory. Cowards, the lot of them. Disgraceful, pathetic creatures. Their usefulness served me well however. In their obsessive crave for survival, and the cunning ways of them as their most infamous trait, this numerous group of beasts subjects itself to the rule of feared leaders like my brother and I, guaranteeing shelter and protection from those who would seek their irreversible retirement from this plane of existence. Soon enough, a pair of my most loyal subjects came into the receiving room adjacent to my private quarters. Standing as guards to my favourite toy, each one holding an end of his chains. Immediately, a bright smile altered the shape of my usually stern expression. Bound by rusty old shackles, rattling almost timidly in their velvety melody, proud arrogance rolled off of him in crashing waves. Enslavement did little to deter him from pursuing the darkness where he found acceptance for his many terrible deeds. Spewed by the Source itself, his power could only be rivalled by the rest of us, both the Mavromino and the Kalosum. Yet, in his desperation to right the wrongs of loved ones, the smart fly fell into a ceaseless trap that spoon-fed him the sweet taste of corruption. Bred to be the guardian of all earthly creatures, fiercely shielding the goodness of the world against sin and tirelessly defending the balance of Mother Nature, the primal god Verlyn once venerated by all, now stood defeated by his own hand. Shame, really. He was once a worthy opponent. “Leave us.” The two demons, that promptly secured Verlyn’s wrists without further instructions, vacated the premises as if under a death threat. Something I highly appreciate as I don’t particularly enjoy having my time with Verlyn interrupted or cut short. Like a predator perusing its prey, silently taunting it into seeking escape, I pranced around him in circles. An exchange of words had yet to happen. Instead, I halted my intimidation scene when we faced one another. His mismatched eyes, one earthly brown and the other forest green, bored into mine apathetically, without a care in the world. This detached impassiveness stemmed from the eternity of abuse he was subjected to, brought by myself and Noir. An appreciative sound left my lips as fingers explored the side of his face where fresh bruises became more evident with time. “Did you anger him?” The whisper taunting him, dirty blonde hair equally teasing the skin of my fingers as they play ruefully with those wayward strands. A derisive sneer followed, adjusting his expression from stoicism to one of absolute rebellion. “Isn’t he always pissed?” The thick cadence of his voice raising chills across my flesh. His continued insubordination fueled the sadistic part of me that indulged in the pleasures of depravity and severe punishment. “You should have learned how to deflect his wrath by now.”, I mused rather quietly while sinking sharp claws into his side, slashing through ripped muscles until blood erupted from the wound. “After all, we’ve all been doing this dance for countless centuries. Do you still remember it, Verlyn? The Primus Bellum?” Ever silent in his reveries and introspection, the quiet disrupted by the sporadic feral growl unleashed. Internally, I saluted my own brazenness. His true name was an extremely sore topic for him. Nearly unbearable, the stinging cruelty of the memory of Verlyn’s purity and authenticity of intention would always render him impotent. He now went by the name of Jaden. “Alright, alright. We get it.” Deliciously pronouncing each word with charged decadence, conversational laughter meant to chaff him further spilled from painted red lips, the colour as vibrant as the mirth dancing within dark eyes. “No more talk. More action.” “Just get it over with.” The callous tone effectively knocking down the deceitful honeyed voice. And gone was the dulcet tone. Contrary to his most delusional misconceptions of me, notwithstanding my nature (something none of us can tame, really), part of me often entertained the idea of Jaden’s possible release and what that might entail for Noir and I. A horror show, most likely. Even now, his eyes glimmered dangerously with the hunger of vengeance for the failed bargain he struck with the Mavromino, myself and dear old brother, Noir. A stinging coldness befell, my features shifting from sweet and charming into those of a ruthless predator. Lack of empathy monopolizing every weighed action. Lethal, razor-sharp incisors descended, materializing before Jaden’s eyes. They gleamed wickedly beneath the poor light of a dungeon he knew every inch of. His entire body grew rigid in anticipation of the incoming onslaught. And as previously stated, both parties were intimate with the roles played in this ancient dance of power and control. Without further warning, I sank my teeth deep into the tender flesh of his neck, tearing it open until the most satisfying source of nourishment came pouring from. Bright red now painted my teeth, tongue and lips. Smeared across my cheeks, his blood held the sweetest taste. “Always a glutton for punishment, my dear.” Pain written across his face, he struggled to reign in the urgent necessity to unleash his own version of payback. Only the vow made aeons ago prevented him from tearing myself and Noir apart. None of us were ignorant to the fact. And that was why the lord of Azmodea went to great lengths to ensure their pact stayed intact despite the wrong turn it took for Jaden. He had willingly chosen to subject himself to humiliating slavery to save his grandson from a fate worse than death. This, however, never came to being. The bargain had already been struck when Jaden got word of Jared’s fate. His grandson’s capture was synonym to his neck being leashed for eternity. In misery, they both endured the violent passage of time. Their predicament unchanging. “Fuck you, Azura.” He clamoured angrily. The expletive echoed shortly with taunting laughter interrupting. “Yes, you have. You have graciously handed me the best weapon. Xevikan.” Although his intellect was unquestionably superior, he was also a male and that made him a fool. In one vulnerable night, I took him into my body and delivered him a son. An expert in the art of manipulation, it wasn’t long until I had Xevikan wrapped around my finger and dutifully carry out his mother’s orders. Like spying on him and ensuring the failure of his missions. “Trust no one. Not even your blood. A lesson I will never forget. And for that, I thank you.” A note of defeat hinted at the facade he was putting on, just for show. I was breaking him.

[belamanaxkolasi]

Invinvible

When Caleb talks about his childhood he mentions the man who raised him,  “Someone who wasn’t supposed to have kindness”, and in another book he said it was his uncle, who is it? Rezar or Noir? Because by the way he speaks of him and the fact he fought for the Mavromino before he met Lil, I kinda lean towards it being Noir.

[indurarinks]

A CURSED BLADE (& BLOOD SPILLED)

Prologue. Throughout history, whispers of reverence told the ancient tales of a mighty weapon that had been forged by the gods themselves. A lethal blade that represented a perfect combination between the duality of opposing forces: good and evil. It was said the old books of knowledge, which have mysteriously disappeared from the face of the Earth, contained the gory details of countless battles fought by said instrument of war. The same war that has been waging since the dawn of time— the eternal rivalry between good and evil. Light and darkness. Aeons ago, when rivers of blood saturated the battlefields with fallen soldiers from opposite flanks, this feared weapon stood proud amongst the dead. The foul, nauseating smell of death, sweat and guts wafting from the slaughtered soil fed its eternal hunger for blood. Unfortunate were the lesser, weaker creatures that either volunteered or felt a sense of obligation and duty to fight for the side they had been drafted for. None survived an encounter with her. The dance of doom brought forth the ripper of souls as another life was slayed and met its final fate. Despite her reputation, few could claim to hold the knowledge of the identity of the gods' ultimate blade. Most soiled their armour the moment confrontation with her came. The astonishment and disbelief smeared on their faces, like a warrior's war paint, almost comical. The undefeated, omnipotent blade of the gods was made of female curves and long, smooth tresses inked in blinding gold. Future legends on the lethality of female beauty were actually a reference of her, the spirit trapped within the weapon. But all her grace, elegance and submission did not grant her the most precious gem a soul could possess— dignity. The arrogance of the gods stripped her of the most basic rights. That included the attribution of a name. How tragic that the most beloved creation of the primal gods could be so terribly neglected. For thousands of years, she portrayed the role of an inanimate instrument, cold-blooded and indifferent. But a role is just an act and every mask falls off eventually. And standing at the edge of pandemonium, she stared at darkness in the eye with rebellion brimming from within. She dared to give herself a name. Aella. A name of Greek origin as she was too ashamed of her native tongue, the same one language she had once shared with her makers. The word itself signified 'whirlwind', she thought it was befitting. Her tale was soaked in blood and tears. Hunted by misery and endless sorrow. And the single flame of happiness vanquished, without a chance given to taste it properly. Long before humanity's creation, the balance between the two sides of the coin was respected with great admiration. Until it was no more. Greed was held accountable for its virulent poison that depleted all rationale. Then Aella was brought into existence, the gods masterpiece. Cut from the Source that feeds the fabric of the Universe. She was created with one purpose and one purpose only— to lay waste to those who threatened the balance between good and evil and the laws ingrained in it. The ultimate weapon of destruction, she was the ace of demonic nature, crippled by light's legacy. And when the Primus Bellus (the first Great War of the gods) came, the three primal gods of the Mavromino tricked her into eternal slavery. A bold move from their part that guaranteed them forevermore ownership of the mighty queen in the old game of chess. Merely a slave of darkness, her heart shrank with the continuous consumption of it and her soul withered like soft petals after their prime. It was said she would bring about the final fate of the worlds. By then, there was no evidence of decency, the strokes of light in her canvas had faded. She was ruthless as she disseminated the terrifying beauty of death. Even the gods themselves feared her, frightened by her fire and hunger for vengeance. Until one very unexpected day brought a fathomless alignment of stars and with it came the missing halve of her soul. And even though Aella struggled with inexperienced emotions, the undeniable chemistry pulled her toward him like gravity. Their love was both maddening and soft and sweet like a hot summer day with the occasional fresh breeze that just felt right. And they quickly married in secret. For the first time in endless lifetimes of servitude, she was confronted with a concept that had become foreign to her, kept from her in gleeful malice. Light. With it came loyalty, trust, & friendship. Love. But while her heart and soul belonged to her husband, her body and her sword were owned by another. Until kingdom come. They fooled themselves into believing both could coexist but the Fates were never so kind to her. Soon, conflict would stir between the two warring sides of the same coin, bringing about an unforeseen tragedy. The loss of her heart's desire by the bloody hands of the one holding her leash. She was cursed. Eternally divided by good and evil. Now, thousands of years later, Aella was unleashed into a modern world she had no experience of but all the knowledge at her disposal. Noir, the one pulling her strings, sent her back to Earth on a pressing mission. One she could not fail to complete. Bound by duty to carry out his interests, she had no choice in the matter. But nothing would stop her from proving the ancient, but long forgotten primal gods that she still had a say in her own destiny and she would conquer the battle against the old prophecies.

[indurarinks]

BONITA'S DIARY ENTRY:         —SECRETS SPILLED IN GREEN INK

( For several minutes, my fingers had been playing with the pen trapped between them. Bouncing it back and forth without losing the possession of it. Words failed me. Epically. But still, I wanted, craved, longed for. And taking a page out of Elena Gilbert's book, I searched for an empty page. A piece of paper. Whatever. Any surface I could scribble upon. At last, my gaze found the book I had gotten during her prolonged sleep to recount the events of my life so she could read later on. At a time when I no longer belonged in her life. Thankfully, that whole fiasco met its end prematurely. And Damon might have to worship the ground I walked on for as long as I lived. Finally, my fingers flicked through the written pages laden with a multitude of emotions. I took a few heartbeats in memory of the years spent with my best friend in the world before bringing the pen to the page, still pristine but about to be ravaged. ) —Dear diary, I know it's been awhile. Don't give me any lip for it! I'm sorry, okay? It's been one hell of a ride so far. Remember the last time we met? Yeah, I know. It wasn't pretty. But that's changed. . . Oh, diary. So much has happened. If I were to tell you all my adventures, I'd run out of pages. So I'll stick to the news that brought me back to you. Jaden. Shush! His name is Jaden. Not Jaded. Are all diaries this smart-mouthed? I wonder... Anyway. Jaden. He is... well, for lack of better description, a god. In all senses of the word. He's old as dirt, one of the six primal gods. Along with Rezar (Egyptian god, Set) and Cam (Egyptian goddess, Ma'at), he's part of the Kalosum (light). The three of them balance of the power of darkness —the Mavromino. Braith (Apollymi), Noir and Azura are the three primal gods spawned by darkness. During the Primus Bellum, the first Great War of the gods, one of its soldiers betrayed their brethren for his own selfish reasons. Reasons that remain unclear but I'll have to ask him about that... This soldier was Jared, son of Xevikan and grandson of Jaden. His betrayal brought great consequences as expected. To save his grandson from slavery, my Jaden submitted himself to the dark gods in eternal slavery. Do you see what I see too? This creature... I have not seen this degree of loyalty in all my life. Until him. Unfortunately, Jared was still castigated and cursed into slavery as well. No good deed goes unpunished. . . These days, Jaden is a pawn in Noir and Azura's game of chess. And he's the demon broker, the one all demons know to summon when they wish for something. I cannot even begin to understand the hell he's been put through in all the ages of the world and beyond. His other son, Caleb, harbors a hatred I cannot understand but I also know emotions don't have brains. Both of his sons were cursed to an eternity of misery. Theirs is not a happy family... And here I am, trying to save their father from hopeless torment as ancient memories flog him on the daily. What to do? I'm so lost... He breaks my heart with his strength. I cannot fathom being so strong after being kicked, spat on, cursed, tortured... ( At this point, the pen trembled between my fingers as deep sadness gripped my heart and huge tears landed on the page I was scribbling on, blurring the ink. ) But then... when he touches me, it's like he's the one doing the healing. My once brutalized heart grows stronger with each thump. And he is walking poetry, so sweet. So raw. Genuine. I tremble beneath his fingers, to wield such affection, such tenderness without having any concept of it... It baffles me. The mere presence of him chases all my demons away, I'm addicted to him. With him, I have found a peace I thought lost. As worthless as my heart is, I have given it to him. . . And each time my mind conjures a picture of him (something that happens quite often I must admit), two words haunt my thoughts. Quiet strength. That is him. And my lips... my lips curve into a foolish smile, the smile of a teenager infatuated by a boy she's too intimidated to speak to. To be in his arms is to feel at home. I haven't experienced this feeling to this magnitude before. I'll admit, it scares me. But it won't stop me. I will do my damnedest to give him his freedom back. And, hopefully, heal his soul, stick his heart in the process. Because the truth is... I am falling. And I am falling hard. Dear gods, I am. May the Fates have mercy on the both of us.

[huntersbrotherhood]

Malachai

Historia

El Malachai se crean cuando la Primus Bellum, y el poder más oscuro "el Mavromino" creó el Malachai para derribar el Sephirii. A menudo se comparan con un ejército de ángeles caídos. Ellos son demoníacos, de sangre fría, y capaz de destrozar a cualquier cosa que se interponga en su camino. Son herramientas de último mal y tienen los poderes para destruir dioses y absorber sus poderes sin destruir el universo, una capacidad algo similar a los Chthonians. Cuando el Mavromino se volvió contra la Fuente y pensó poner fin a toda la creación, los Sephirii se levantaron para matarlos. La mayoría de ellos volaron hacía las trampas, pero sobrevivieron suficientes Sephirii para declarar la guerra a los Malachai, y los habrían destruido si no hubiesen sido traicionados por uno de los suyos. Cuando ambas partes hicieron una tregua, acordaron ejecutar a sus propios soldados. Todos los Malachai y Sephirii fueron sacrificados, a excepción de uno en cada lado. Jared, quien había ayudado a Mavromino, debía vivir para sufrir y ver lo que había hecho. Sus poderes fueron ligados y debía ser para siempre avergonzado y esclavizado. El orden primordial permitió a un Malachai escapar y así debería Jared ser capaz de escapar de su castigo - ese Malachai sería el único capaz de matarlo. Los Malachai fueron responsables de engendrar muchas de las razas más débiles de demonkyn. Sólo el descendiente del primogénito Malachai puede engendrar a otro Malachai. A fin de mantener el pacto, el padre Malachai debe morir antes que su hijo obtenga sus poderes. Cuando el hijo esté cerca de su padre, comenzará a drenar los poderes de su padre añadiéndolos a los suyos. El Malachai es un objeto de deseo, ya que posee un gran poder. La oscuridad creó un collar que se puede utilizar para esclavizar al Malachai.

Apariencia

En la superficie, son totalmente humanos. Principalmente alguien con pelo negro y ojos marrones. Incluso dioses no pueden sentir lo que son a menos que usen activamente su poder. En su "verdadera" forma, tienen la piel negra con remolinos de patrones de color, que es difieren en cada Malachai (rojo en Ambrose, oro en Adarian). Sus ojos pueden ser rojos, naranja y amarillos, así como el color de sus ojos humanos. Su atuendo es una armadura gris plomo oscura, con fuertes púas, y adornada con tres péndulos que representan los tres destinos. Se dice que la armadura es indestructible. 

Poderes

Pueden hacer muchas cosas, como controlar los elementos, ver el futuro, absorber los poderes de un Dios, pero la única cosa que no pueden hacer es viajar en el tiempo. Pero incluso esto puede ser burlado, ya que pueden robar ese poder temporalmente, bebiendo la sangre de un ser con esta habilidad. Fue revelado que el Malachai esclaviza a cualquier demonio que salve de un peligro mortal.

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