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It was a meeting that took place on an illustrious mansion situated in a villa overlooking the adjacent districts, home to merchants, faux nobles & Araska's aristocratic citizens. This was a particularly special night as the ghouls gathered around to dance under the luminous silver moon. Wary of it all, the streets lay bare of life leaving the spawn of hell to relish in delight with harsh breezes sweeping away those foolish to venture into the dark. The bizarre calm of such a night was torn asunder by a ceremonious stride. Fiddling through the darkness was a boy, composed like an immortalized statuesque column, a black mane exploding & swinging elegantly on his back. He lets out a robust sigh after weaving into another backstreet dead end. Back at the mansion; in a wastefully spacious room, the conversation was picking its pace. Within this room of eight, are two servants, several subordinates & two mid level underground figures that dictated the subject matter: the indignation of the Araska's 'fleas'.
The discussions winds down into a chatter on the events centered of the month prior. Araska had quaked as its marines faced off against a charismatic yet insufferable marine. In a display that pitted skill & experience against vigor & determination, it was the rogue who grabbed the reigns of victory earning the admiration of an entire populace. Never in a million years would have anyone thought that his arsenal was not only so large but awe strikingly vicious. Yet the dismantled infrastructure of Araska bore testament to his fury. To make it worse, he had declared war not on the perpetrators but the world itself. The talk of the Fallion Incident was also brimming with talk of chaos. No, rather the chaos, the talk focused on the crusade of a relatively new faction. A rag tag bunch called Revolutionaries which sliced diced, shook & baked those who dared stand on their mission. A new age was dawning!
However, it was the mention of the rogues name that one of the agent's expression changes. Wrinkled into a rage, disgust and bitterness, a strong foul odor of anger permeates from him. One of the aides cannot help from chuckling at his ugly crumpled expression, which does nothing but infuriate him. "You find something funny peasant?" his voice rattles in an instance. The orange haired girl quietly shakes her in disagreement before lowering her head. Impressed at her brashness his companion begins to stare at her supple bosom which was fighting a losing battle against her outfit. "I don't think I have had you before" Suddenly, the atmosphere around the room changes as he bears his fangs, the ravenous piercing look of eyes that unashamedly was stripping the maid almost literally. Business would have to wait, it was now time for the indulgence of canal pleasure.
"Come here" he gestured at the impudent maid. Nightly orgies for sadistic aristocrats & lap dog guests had become a routine in this villa. The orange girl's reserved companion had birthed two children through the perversity that was about to transpire. The light of hope in her was dying out. This would be her final humiliation. Hardly, do the two take a step forward when the lights in the room go out as a blast of scorching flames engulfs the surrounding walls heating them to a charred crisp. Dazed and confused the underground brokers cower like the vermin whilst their agents, closest to them (walls) get their limbs sprayed throughout the room. The ceremonious stomping stride of a foot's heel cuts short the confusion. Deep from the razing flames the cheeky smile of the prodigious figure emerges. On this night Araska's son had come to enact revenge.
The impact of the previous attack had produced a shock wave that rocked the region. A seismic tremor had followed soon after sending the Araska southern district Nazzama back to the bronze age. Fear gripped the denizens and instantaneously the masses poured into the streets running about in helter skelter. The midnight marauders invocation was well and truly underway. Baraka swayed his head from side to side and breathed deep into his lungs. His nostrils twitched slightly as the air rubbed past them, on route to his lungs. This was not due its chilly coldness but rather its stench. In the staleness of it all, was the saturated fragrant aroma of Izanami. The demon queen with powers of creation and destruction had graced the island with her presence and he could sense it. In all his years nothing could compare to, let alone best the smell that she oozed.
A tingling spark of joy escaped his brain and ran down his spine before dispersing throughout his body and electrifying him with impassioned yearning. His eyes dilated in rhythm to his palpitating heart as he wished this moment would last longer and allow him to sink his teeth further into the cursed fruit of Lust. However, he had important matters to attend to. There were people to see and bodies to collect. The dancing flames around the burning room illuminated the face of his and his father's enemies. "Gentlemen, I trust you know why I am here" His voice calm and controlled a far cry from the tense mood present. "Cease this madness officer! Your boss is..." the man barked. "Remember this? You gave it to me" the young man hissed as he stretched out his right hand prompting it to spark at his whim. "Eustass?" "Wrong. My name is No'ri Baraka." was his declaration before charging forward and driving his fist into the men's chests. Unable to contain his rage, the indomitable Nimrod exploded and the motionless bodies that lay before him the definitive proof.
A loud screech from a foot sliding as it rubbed across the floor, broke Baraka's heavy breathing and let him free from the oscillating mental asylum of thought. At the same time, a pack of wolves with crimson furs that were as light as water, gnarled before they began their descent from his crescent shaped feather clouds. With gravity on their side, it had been only a matter of time before they quickly gathered momentum and soon descended on the wooden floors grew below. These wolves were the remnants of what was left of Nazzam's Bellinelli and Barbosa families' head honchos. Corrupt fiends who'd lived too long under the protection of the law. After cracking open their torso, blood had been projected mostly to the ground and around Baraka's forearms, only to get trapped in his bangles and soiling them dull. The ear deafening scream of their maids filled the room but it was no use. Under the madness of this night it was nothing more than a blimp drowned by the screams of the chaos that engulfed the town and so it came to pass; The Black Sabbath. A night in which poetic justice was delivered by one notorious marine and his cohort. As several underworld brokers and agents masquerading as merchants got what they deserved.
The discussions winds down into a chatter on the events centered of the month prior. Araska had quaked as its marines faced off against a charismatic yet insufferable marine. In a display that pitted skill & experience against vigor & determination, it was the rogue who grabbed the reigns of victory earning the admiration of an entire populace. Never in a million years would have anyone thought that his arsenal was not only so large but awe strikingly vicious. Yet the dismantled infrastructure of Araska bore testament to his fury. To make it worse, he had declared war not on the perpetrators but the world itself. The talk of the Fallion Incident was also brimming with talk of chaos. No, rather the chaos, the talk focused on the crusade of a relatively new faction. A rag tag bunch called Revolutionaries which sliced diced, shook & baked those who dared stand on their mission. A new age was dawning!
However, it was the mention of the rogues name that one of the agent's expression changes. Wrinkled into a rage, disgust and bitterness, a strong foul odor of anger permeates from him. One of the aides cannot help from chuckling at his ugly crumpled expression, which does nothing but infuriate him. "You find something funny peasant?" his voice rattles in an instance. The orange haired girl quietly shakes her in disagreement before lowering her head. Impressed at her brashness his companion begins to stare at her supple bosom which was fighting a losing battle against her outfit. "I don't think I have had you before" Suddenly, the atmosphere around the room changes as he bears his fangs, the ravenous piercing look of eyes that unashamedly was stripping the maid almost literally. Business would have to wait, it was now time for the indulgence of canal pleasure.
"Come here" he gestured at the impudent maid. Nightly orgies for sadistic aristocrats & lap dog guests had become a routine in this villa. The orange girl's reserved companion had birthed two children through the perversity that was about to transpire. The light of hope in her was dying out. This would be her final humiliation. Hardly, do the two take a step forward when the lights in the room go out as a blast of scorching flames engulfs the surrounding walls heating them to a charred crisp. Dazed and confused the underground brokers cower like the vermin whilst their agents, closest to them (walls) get their limbs sprayed throughout the room. The ceremonious stomping stride of a foot's heel cuts short the confusion. Deep from the razing flames the cheeky smile of the prodigious figure emerges. On this night Araska's son had come to enact revenge.
The impact of the previous attack had produced a shock wave that rocked the region. A seismic tremor had followed soon after sending the Araska southern district Nazzama back to the bronze age. Fear gripped the denizens and instantaneously the masses poured into the streets running about in helter skelter. The midnight marauders invocation was well and truly underway. Baraka swayed his head from side to side and breathed deep into his lungs. His nostrils twitched slightly as the air rubbed past them, on route to his lungs. This was not due its chilly coldness but rather its stench. In the staleness of it all, was the saturated fragrant aroma of Izanami. The demon queen with powers of creation and destruction had graced the island with her presence and he could sense it. In all his years nothing could compare to, let alone best the smell that she oozed.
A tingling spark of joy escaped his brain and ran down his spine before dispersing throughout his body and electrifying him with impassioned yearning. His eyes dilated in rhythm to his palpitating heart as he wished this moment would last longer and allow him to sink his teeth further into the cursed fruit of Lust. However, he had important matters to attend to. There were people to see and bodies to collect. The dancing flames around the burning room illuminated the face of his and his father's enemies. "Gentlemen, I trust you know why I am here" His voice calm and controlled a far cry from the tense mood present. "Cease this madness officer! Your boss is..." the man barked. "Remember this? You gave it to me" the young man hissed as he stretched out his right hand prompting it to spark at his whim. "Eustass?" "Wrong. My name is No'ri Baraka." was his declaration before charging forward and driving his fist into the men's chests. Unable to contain his rage, the indomitable Nimrod exploded and the motionless bodies that lay before him the definitive proof.
A loud screech from a foot sliding as it rubbed across the floor, broke Baraka's heavy breathing and let him free from the oscillating mental asylum of thought. At the same time, a pack of wolves with crimson furs that were as light as water, gnarled before they began their descent from his crescent shaped feather clouds. With gravity on their side, it had been only a matter of time before they quickly gathered momentum and soon descended on the wooden floors grew below. These wolves were the remnants of what was left of Nazzam's Bellinelli and Barbosa families' head honchos. Corrupt fiends who'd lived too long under the protection of the law. After cracking open their torso, blood had been projected mostly to the ground and around Baraka's forearms, only to get trapped in his bangles and soiling them dull. The ear deafening scream of their maids filled the room but it was no use. Under the madness of this night it was nothing more than a blimp drowned by the screams of the chaos that engulfed the town and so it came to pass; The Black Sabbath. A night in which poetic justice was delivered by one notorious marine and his cohort. As several underworld brokers and agents masquerading as merchants got what they deserved.
