#Sephirii

[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.

Menyon latino

[bookloveravenue]

A Deadman’s Cross novel (book 2): Death Doesn’t Bargain by Sherrilyn Kenyon

Death Doesn’t Bargain is the second historical fantasy title in New York Times bestselling author Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Deadman’s Cross series. Where Deadmen tell their tales, and every soul is damned or redeemed by the final choices they make.

The Deadmen are back...

But so are the demons who have broken free of their eternal prison and are bent on mankind's destruction. The worst of the lot is Vine, determined to claim their lives for taking hers. She will see the world burn...and has the perfect lure to destroy them all. One of their own.

Kalder Dupree has never known a day of mercy. Born to the cruelest of mer-races, he sacrificed himself for his crew and is in Vine's hands. He expects no mercy or rescue.

Yet Cameron Jack is determined to set Kalder free. As a Hellchaser, it's her calling, and she cannot allow even a not-so-innocent to be tortured for an act of kindness that spared her damnation.

To defeat evil, it sometimes takes an even worse evil, and Cameron is willing to do whatever she must to make this right. If Vine thought she had her hands full before, she hasn't seen anything nearly as powerful as Cameron's resolve.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35953526-death-doesn-t-bargain

********

May 9, 2018

My Review: 5/5 Stars

Back to the seas filled with demons and monsters and of course our favorite pirate crew, the Deadmen. After losing Kalder in the last book, the crew is desperate to get him back. Especially Cameron Jack, who Kalder traded places with in hell to set her free. In this novel we learn more about Kalder and his Myrcian heritage. Which is just another awesome mythology that Kenyon has woven into her world of Dark Hunters. And speaking of Dark Hunters, we get a surprise visit from the leader himself. Acheron appears in the story along with Savitar. What I really loved about this story is that we gain more knowledge of this universe Kenyon created, especially when it comes to the Sephirii and the Malachai and the Source. More secrets are revealed when it comes to these creatures and ideas that constantly appear in her Dark Hunter series and with characters like Thorn, we can start piecing everything together a lot better. This part of the story was just as important as Kalder's and Cameron's. Their relationship is one that started in Deadmen Walking and we see really grow in this story. Another great installment to the series, with yet another cliffhanger that has us wishing the next one wasn't a year away! But when it comes to this pirate crew, I think we can all agree it is worth the wait.   

[kellysreadingnook]

Infamous by Sherrilyn Kenyon Chapter: Six

Summary: Nick braces himself and Simi materializes in front of him. She invites him out to eat, but Nick declines as he is grounded. She disappears and Nick realizes that it wasn't Simi that made the alarms go off. He metally calls Caleb and he picks up that its Noir and he's coming for Nick. Caleb calls Nekoda and he vanishes to warn Adarian. Nick asks Nekoda who Noir is and Nekoda explains that he's one of the six primal gods and that he and his father are what fuel him, the majority of his power coming from the Malachai. Nick asks for more information and Nekoda explains the whole thing. At one point, there were six primal gods, three for the positive and three for the negative. For the positive side, there was Verlyn who was in charge of vegetation and fertility and an earth god who kept everyone fed, Cam who was the goddess of white and gold and the sun goddess with gifts of love and light, and Rezar the god of lust, fire, and passion. These three gods created the Chtonians, their police force. For the negative, there is Braith, the goddess of war and metals and who taught mankind how to forge weapons out of the earth to fight each other, Azura who is the goddess of water who lures unsuspecting people in and then drowns them, and then there's Noir, the god of all things dark and deadly. After Braith taught man how to fight, Verlyn, Cam, and Rezar created the Sephirii to be the protectors of man and the consorts of the primal gods. Nekoda also reveals the name of the Sephiroth, Jared. When this happened, Braith and Azura were furious and created the Malachai in response. Nick then realizes that Nekoda is related to one of the primal gods, but won't say which one. Then Nick asks Nekoda questions about his birth and she makes Nick realize that his conception was through violence to do violence. Using her powers, Nekoda takes him into the past to show him the moment of his birth. Nick is shocked to find out that his mom did consider giving him up for adoption at one point, but decided against it since he was her blood. Then we switch to Adarian. Caleb has arrived and relays that he has been found. He also explains that whatever it was tried to gain access to Nick's room. He dismisses Caleb with an even firmer order to protect Nick. Then a guard is possessed and its revealed that Adarian had impregnated a goddess and that the things after him had known about it for centuries. Adarian then realizes that he could infuse his other son with Nick's blood and combine all three Malachai. Then he decides that its time to pay Nick a visit. Reaction: Hmmmm.... Prediction: Its pretty obvious that there's a hint that Nick's mom was raped. As for Nekoda, I believe that she is related to one of the positive gods, narrowing it down to either Verlyn, Cam, or Rezar. I'm leaning towards Cam though.

Tomorrow's chapter: Seven

[calumnior-blog]

Chapter 1 — The Thief of Balin

Primus Bellum —

Finely shaped, long legs serpentined down around the black column that was the long neck of a towering Malachai; her thighs imprisoning his obsidian coloured skull into fine focus. Her locked ankles were the sigil of war over this soldier’s chest which was worn with his suicidal satisfaction as her fingers remained coiled upon his long, crimson locks; the leash bearing her animal. 

Horses were for soldiers; and the soldiers were for their commanders; for her. 

Tall figures lined up to create the back-bent semicircle of humanoids — some of the strongest Malachais in their true forms; one walking Balin harbouring their soldiers inside the circular fortress of movement into the fields of battle with a strategy schemed to visually stimulate the element of shock; the Sephirii accidental into paralysis for the lapse of one second — 

either gawking up at the goddess of warfare, a paradisal paradox within the crowds of commoner men. Or, the troops of heaven were overwhelmed by the moving architecture of demonic humanoid machinery. 

Within that second, and the trickle of the ensued, the fate of the battle had been carved with blood — she had stolen victory. 

“Spread them red." 

At Scelestus’s command, the malachai — fleshed in their humanity within the walls of their humongous comrades — tore apart from within their comrades’ limbic fences; their blood thirst vengeful in its quest for quench; the Sephirii — their feast. 

A collection of archers march behind one another to form one linear line to parallel in reflection of the height of the giant her highness was riding on. 

A smile twists the plumpness of her crimson covered lips, eclipsing a shade blacker within her eyes as her fingers tighten their grasp upon the leash of hair. 

Stupidity. 

Legs snake back, her knees balanced upon the width of her soldier’s shoulders; her posture poisoning the air with intoxication and a regal revolution as her chin raises to toss one glance of mercy down upon the men before she flips. Backwards. 

Legs extend back as she bends in opposition to her front, her fingers clutched onto the malachai’s head with unholy strength of pantheons combined, she vaults in front, her spine at exhibition to the Sephirii soldiers gazing up to have their horizons clouded by the shadow of defeat, casted by the silhouette of the Queen Commander of the Malachai before the giant’s height rains down in that 180 degrees of symmetry by her drag down; crushing the men’s skulls down a plummet onto meet the bones of their feet — blood blasting within flesh and skeletons fossilised upon the ground with the screams that were to leave eluding in piping squeaks from their crumbling thoraxes underneath this Malachai’s indestructible armour. 

Black bleeds from the skies, as the Malachai’s skull tears from the hinges of its sturdy neck and splatters of impious blood fertilises the soil of this garden of horrors; sputtering its darkened droplets upon the visions of the enemy; eclipsing light from gazes of the troops of Light themselves as fellow Malachai violated through for their massacre. 

One predicted paranoia; with the stirring of her treacherous tactics and one of the biggest Sephirii sectors of this battle had been scrolled off the table. 

Scelestus lands from near the heavens, her balance as a dancer hereditary from humanity into immortality; having her inherent to the same unparalleled grace of falling feet as if after one cinematic pirouette. 

With her fingers still locked into the muddled brick curls of the head within her hand; a small severance to link to the unexplainable reach of her powers — differentiated in form and physical range than any entity, as she uplifts the skull up to her gaze, her black eyes painting against the rolled up red of the malachai.

Black blood gravitates onto her feet from the column of a neck her legs had just kissed against, and her arm, with a gentle touch of violence, swings back by her curvaceous side to bowl the skull of her sacrificial ‘horse’ back against the body in incompletion without it; as the haunting memories of the last time she saw a pair of eyes hunched over in demise. But those had belonged to someone she’d have endeared her whole, mortal life. 

The laceration burns up against her abdomen; and as her senses were sung the cacophony of death once again, her gaze fixated upon the sword hammered straightly sideways against her stomach before traveling up to the trembling eyes of the Sephirii soldier that had gambled his life for this strike. 

Only a hit could be felt through her armour, besides the cut that stemmed over her flesh which was exposed from the shameless inverted triangle that ran up in exposure from the base of her spine to broaden its base over the nudity of her shoulders before plunging down into a deep 'V’ which narrowed down each inch it travelled down her bounteous chest and desirous abdomen, halting before the ornately minimalistic belt that crafted the metallic one-piece in togetherness.  

Seemingly ineffective with only translucent midnight green metal rippling in elegance of glassy snake scales only, minimalistic for velocity and her preference of "pants” for fluidity, but her armour was forged from fires of a hell that’d remain unnamed to everyone but herself. It absorbed the force of an attack; and it was strategically designed with the strikes of metaphors by Scelestus to protect her by “shedding its skin” as several scales tricked onto the ground. 

Saccharine in visual, poisonous in intent; her unharmed smile disarms the soldier’s defences, while her fingers disarm his weapons. Human memories drive her reflexes of stealing seduction, as she’s once again mortal in a secretive halls of a foreign castle with her intoxicated native soldiers; adorned in the same dress that was torn further to craft her blood tainted, then war tattered crimson 'cape’ that was stitched against the outline of the backless front of her armour, scheming for her life. Her fingers seep into the enemy’s as if in a lover’s touch as she laces the sword’s hilt over to her grip; dislodging it from her abdomen to lash out in an arc and to bury the blade in parallel into his guts that had come for glory. 

Under her summon, the metal scales rippled back onto her suit; as with black fire in her eyes; her crusade of carnage was enforced by her heavily regal steps; demanding vengeance and destruction with the echo from each feet. 

She walked down the walk of war, but she travelled the lane of memory. 

With no weapons of her own in hand, reels of recollections roll within the projector of her skull, casting the light of the past from the lenses of her gaze onto the screen of the carnage in front, the sunny streets of Balin shadowing the darkness play into view while she presently swifts through the men, an invisibly visible wraith as her fingers smoothly pick out the silver hilted dagger while passing a stranger with his back to her, fishing it out without a hitch as she’s in her adolescence as she ran through the crowds without stop of motion within foreign visitors. Her heart at the satisfying spectrum of blades to colour as her own; vulture eyes in rapid rotation within sockets as it caught onto every glint that reflected against the Balin sun, a kaleidoscopic blur in her head while she distinguished metal from jewels in her adrenaline ecstasy. 

Only now, instead of concealing her spoils from their respective owners, she flaunted her crime in their faces. Or jabbed their lengths into the sides their necks. Or for them to dislocate their pupils focusing on what protruded from in within the space between their eyes. 

A spinning storm, she stole. 

Weapons for lives, lives for weapons. 

A cursed crescent moon within men, she with the arc spun of a scythe; death a mercy upon her curves. 

Each contact brought in reflexes born of mortality that inherited into her undying — the stalls of festivals, the fronts of her home, streets of unwinding villages unknown and in the courts of kings with empty thrones. 

She was never allowed a weapon within her home, never defended herself with any steel that belonged to her — all for the laws of a universe whose course of flow was constricted with the judgement of society. 

She has to steal for a thrill, steal to have a desire, steal to purchase, steal to sell; steal to breath; steal to survive; steal to live. 

Old habits die hard, they say. 

And so did she. 

She had only one belonging of hers; one weapon. Crafted within tie of the high ponytail that hiked up her long, flaxen hair atop the crown of her skull. 

“Can you steal from me, my love?" 

"From you?" 

"From me and for you." 

"Why do I have to steal it if you’re willing to give?" 

"I’ll not be willing. But I believe you’ll find the answer to the question in your own speech from the past." 

A pause. 

"—Because what belongs rightfully to us is never given with virtue. And it’s never kept without sin." 

But she still had to succumb to the humility of tainting its blade with blood of corruption. 

But the blade still had had its first draw of blood… 

And the crown of her head felt heavy as remorse caged down her animalistic animosity tearing inside her; and the laws of human emotions step into the light to chastise. 

What would it have been if the blade had been in her own hand instead? 

Would he still be alive? 

And a light reflects; closely familiar in all aspects against her eyes and her head travels out of her head’s volition; but her heart’s. 

Does it resemble his… 

The nostalgia that armed her; was perhaps also what weakened her. 

She goes on ahead like a deserted fool grasping out for the mirage of what vulnerabilities craved; her hand already reaching for the sword against her logic in its waisted keep and the the world is flooded in with white, and then it bleaches out to colour in electric blue skies. 

— Within the winding roads, framed either sides by the fleet of markets of a village far from the sands of Balin, Scelestus walks in a trance, chasing the iridescence of argent. Jilted from five senses besides one, the hilt was all her vision was trained on with fascinated fixation; enough not to completely process the height of the man she was pursuing. 

People would pay with their houses for just the hilt. The blade must cost an entire stretch of land. 

It’d pay for our survival… 

Humanity was her camouflage; its stagnant static drowning out the trickle of the tides of her feet as she dived into the whimsical waves — submerging herself into simply the surface of the deepest ocean of lost songs of joy and currents of profound tragedy. 

In her recollections, the sharpness of that moment with the channels of others couldn’t be contrasted even by toning up the colours of hatred. 

The hands of time defied heavy in rebellion to its gravitation as they refused to fall in their typical tick of time; and every moment slowed down the second her fingertips laced around the leather sheath. 

She had already turned, walking backwards for her tricky take but her black eyes drifted up, the streaking strokes of gold from the sun unfocused in its framing against her eyes by the defined side of his face, weakening her sight momentarily and she tripped to fall; her grasp still upon the sword. 

But before her spine harshly kissed the gravel, warm fingers; strong fingers  embraced about the width of her elbow to save her from her fall. And she looked up again, shock at her mishap lasting a lapse until one primal feeling overpowered that moment; something inexplicable, as unexplained as how the universe came to be.  Or as unanswered. 

All she could relate to that moment as her arm slipped through his palm and she tranced behind; the sword conveniently clasped somehow still in her hand — was stare. Stare at a work of art who which was done to perfection; but you could see its canvas vacant, the strings that threaded it miserable from how the paint was brushed over it. But still, the inflicted colours were so… beautiful. 

The rich black in his hair, the earthly brown of his eyes. The perfect intonation of hue upon those lips. 

But soon, his hand fell away from hers; and as their last fingertips said goodbye, she only hoped that, instead, this would be how they’d always be saying hello. —

Through the strings tied to pray for wishes, how was it that hers had echoed through the threads so clearly to the Fates? 

Too clearly. 

A gush of wind breathed without will against her bare back, the whisper of a weapon; dragging her out of her delirium.

She casted her head with borderline indifference over her shoulder even before the battlecries tore themselves from the throats of the Sephirii as the tips of two sharpened spears barrelled in the ambition to stab her in the back. 

Cowardly. 

In complete command of her body, her legs perform flip in martial techniques with her back still to her attackers. Arms in an alluring crisscross over her chest, her body twists in technique mid-air, dodging their assault as her legs one by one vault over each ligneous length of the spears by occupying the moments in between the gaps of the weapons before ending up on their other side from her revolution. 

They charge at her again, up front. 

Her arms raised in grace only to film down and wring weapons from soldiers storming at her from either sides, their screams the sound thunder of their desperations. With each arm extended out, Scelestus’s fingers lace about the circumference of their wrists; the softness of her touch a betrayal for the violence to greet as their wrists are spun to crack and spin into a 360 degrees’ revolution, spreading wide their fingers to drop their weapons — which fell into her palms which had already accelerated down to choke about the enemies’ weapons, costing one elegantly long spin within her grip before, slanted to their slim sides, the metal tips found themselves tear through the throats of their respective owners. 

Uplifting her arms to induce momentum, she barrels down the spikes at their tips, planting in the Sephirii at their throats upon the ground. 

"If there’s another kind I despise rather than the likes of Caleb Malphas, it’s creatures who think my back is bared only to bear the scars they’d inflict." 

With seething disgust, she places the sole of her feet against the blood boiling mouths of one of the soldiers, crashing down force to dismantle in abhorrent angles the bones of his jaw alongside half his face. 

And as she makes her way over to the one yet to bite the dust, his question makes its coherence through his dying gurgles. 

"What are you?" 

"Vengeance." 

| The End | 

[sallux]

No, it's our willingness to believe their lies and to see what we want to see that makes it so dangerous. Even when we know better, we lie to ourselves and that's where the true betrayal is.

Jared (Dream Warrior)

[huntersbrotherhood]

Sephiroth vs Malachai

¿Que es un Sephiroth?

Eran consortes y soldados de los dioses primigenios. Pero se suponía que nunca procrearian con ellos. 

¿Que hace tan especial a un Malachai?

Fue el primero de los destructores demoníacos y su raza es padre de muchos de los demonios malignos posteriores y más conocidos. Por suerte, ninguno de los niños poseen los poderes de su padre. Más bien, son las versiones suavizadas de los Malachai.

Pero como en todos los casos hay una excepción que confirma la regla:

La línea original de la sangre del último Malachai, el primogénito único, que solo puede engendrar un hijo, aún más poderoso que él.

¿Como se convirtio el último Malachai en una herramienta para el mal?

Fue engañado para matar a la mujer que amaba, y a su hijo nonato. La culpa y el dolor lo volvieron loco y enveneno su sangre con odio.

¿Como se reconoce a un Malachai?

A no ser que esté utilizando su poder para ocultar lo que es, no sangra rojo. El Malachai sangra negro por todo el odio que hay en su interior.

¿Como se esclaviza a un Malachai?

La manera más fácil es, si él tiene un hijo destinado a heredar sus poderes, y ponerlos juntos. En cuanto están juntos el joven Malachai empieza a chupar la energía del anciano inmediatamente. Sin embargo, el inconveniente de esto, es que una vez muerto el padre, el niño tendrá sus poderes y los de su padre. De manera que matas al padre y esclavizas al hijo antes de que el niño desarrolle plenamente sus poderes. La manera más difícil seria usando el collar.

¿Que es collar que lleva Jared en el libro "El Silencio de la Noche"?

Los tres dioses primigenios que una vez lo controlaban todo, crearon un collar especial que restringe los poderes y que impide dañar a quien te lo coloca. Este collar es el mismo que convoca Azura en "El Guardián de los Sueños".

¿Que es el Mavromino?

El Mavromino es el nombre que se le da al grupo de los tres dioses primarios malignos: Noir, Azura, y Braith.

Los tres dioses se derivan directamente de la fuente primaria, a través Chronus y Tiamat, que crearon seis dioses primarios, que en cierto sentido, le dan lugar a la trama de Cazadores Oscuros y Las Cronicas de Nick.

Sherrilyn Kenyon Spain y Menyon latino

[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.

Menyon latino