cyprus
New Member
You got it all wrong, I donʻt hate you. Im just not necessarily excited about your existence.
Posts: 13
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Post by cyprus on Nov 29, 2014 20:59:07 GMT
Who Dares Wins? Do you dare to open the Book Of Cyprus and enter the realm, where sweet dreams fail to deliver us from ghoulies and ghosties and long legged beasties and things that go bump in the night?
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cyprus
New Member
You got it all wrong, I donʻt hate you. Im just not necessarily excited about your existence.
Posts: 13
|
Post by cyprus on Nov 29, 2014 21:19:31 GMT
You’re alone. In a strange and remote area, civilization hasn’t yet crept up upon, or better yet, doesn’t dare to venture in. Through the heavily thicketed forest you trudge. So thick the high branches of trees and vines of plants criss-crossing through each other shutting out the bright full moon light, even blocking out the sun during the days. The ominous forest shrouded in darkness, unnatural darkness; an inky black mess; pitch black, gives off an eerie feeling to those who wander within its grasp. The faint traces of the nighttime winds rip through the vegetation swirling leaves and other debris into the damp, warm and earthy smelling air; the rustling of leaves and branches intertwine with the sounds of crickets, mews of small animals, and howls of wolves forming what most call the “music of the wild”. You know you should turn back the way you came, but something beckons you to keep moving forward, just a little bit farther.
Soon, the thick confines of the forest slowly begin to disperse as you find yourself upon an old and seemingly recently used deer trail, the sounds of a trickling stream resounds somewhere through the darkness. Abruptly, the forest disappears and opens up into a massive grassy clearing, revealing the dark nighttime sky dotted in shimmering stars and set alit by the white glow of the full moon. The clearing, bright as day, was a massive half circle. But the clearing wasn’t the strangest thing there, as you would notice. On the other half of the circle ran a huge shear cliff wall, about at least 17,000 ft high. The ends of the cliff wall ran off and disappeared into the forest on either ends, and there, carved into the solid limestone wall, was an intricately designed porch, complete with an over hanging roof, four stone step stairs, and a wooded railing lining the perimeter of the 10ft x 20ft porch. Directly dead center of the porch was two oak doors with silver door handles.
As you walk up the steps, candles on either side burst into neon green flames setting the porch alight in a soft flickering neon green glow. You know you don’t belong here but curiosity gets the best of you, and you cautiously open the oak doors. The smell of aged wood, oldness, and forgotten secrets whispered in hushed voices greets you and welcomes you within its hold. Still standing on the threshold, you notice at once when you had stepped into the clearing all sounds of the outside world ceased to be. The wind deathly still compared to the raging winds they once were, no sounds of wild animals or of the calm stream travels to your ears. Sucking up your growing fear, you step in. More candles decking the halls and tables flicker to life casting off a soft and warming glow unlike the neon green candles outside. Timidly you wander about the house, clearly no one here. Surprisingly, the house had wooden flooring and in some parts of the house carpets, conflicting to the outside limestone walls cared to reveal. Something begs you to climb up the red wood stairs to the second floor and draws you to an abandoned room down the hall, neon green light seeps out from under the doorframe. Stepping into the room, you notice it was more or less furnished and ill kept. Shelves filled with books of all sizes threatened to topple over onto the floor. In the center of the room were a large mahogany desk and a fluffy cushioned chair to match. Strewn across the desk was papers in a disheveled order, some scattered to the floor.
Something gently pushes you from behind into the direction of the chair, guiding you to sit down and you are obliged to do so. Getting comfy in the chair you glance around, the room feels as if something is gathering inside, filling the room with its presence, making itself somewhat known. Three candles sitting on top the desk flicker but remain lite as you looking down upon the piles of paper. There was only one that caught your eye immediately. A plain white paper with the words written upon it in small, cursive, black ink letters, two words with a simple request, “READ ME” in capital letters.
You slide off the top paper to find a small leather bound book. At first you don’t think such a thing was of worth to read, as you were about to cast off your worrying fears like a foolish noob you noticed upon closer inspection of the book that it wasn’t made of just any animal leather but human skin; in some places stitched together with sinew and the bindings made of vertebrae. Intrigued, you sit down once more in the chair taking up the weird book into your hands cautiously and open the cover, just like the note, written upon the inside cover of the book, in small, cursive, black ink, capital letters “HH CYPRUS”. Glancing out the huge window behind you, the moon was still high in the sky, thinking “Why the hell not?!” you flip to the first page coming across a journal entry; it reads….
“ XXXX No Date (Or 17,000 centuries from today) The day when the earth was just getting used to its path around the sun and the human race was still new and young was the day I was first created. Created, not born like most beings. At least, that’s what the ArchDemons told me. I was created, the only one of my kind, to be better then the rest, a literal living weapon. I was designed to do my tasks with excellency, efficiency, and obediently. I was designed to cause fear and terror among the mortals and the inferior demons alike. The ArchDemons said I was created from a piece of each of them. The wings of one, the canines and claws of another, the spinal bone from one, and the eyes from another. All four gave me one thing in common, their power of souls energy. I was different from the rest of the other Hounds, they were merely dead skin and rotten flesh falling off their bones while I have fur and living flesh. Even when we all just were pups, they were small compared to me. I had wings, they didn’t. I had souls energy, they didn’t. And so you can imagine things didn’t go so well. And just because I was a hybrid I wasn’t treated any different then the rest; in fact, I was treated worse. On the day I was created I also had my heart torn from my chest and my soul snuffed out. On that day I remember, I had first opened my eyes and found myself being grasped around the neck within one of the ArchDemons claws, tilting my head down I had found that I was suspended over a bowl like object. Before I even had the chance of gasping for breath Azazel, the ArchDemon who had me in his claws, promptly shoved his claws deep within my small puppy chest. I remember I yelped in pain, black spots occurring in my vision, the pain horrendous. Azazel reached his claw inside the gaping cavity of what once was my chest and tore my heart out. In front of my eyes, He squished it between his thumb and index finger with a wet pop. But, they were not done greeting me yet. Azazel handed me over to Balberith/Berith, who knew the arts of prayer in both Demonic and Angelic ways. Devoured my soul into oblivion. After the welcoming ceremony was over, I was casted aside into the ditches of Hell, not card if living or not; although I did survive…in a way. The moment I was able to stand on weakened and wobbling paws it was TRAINING TIME! Not just your fun have a beating or two in a spar but harsh torture. Forced to fend for yourself at ever second rarely ever given food and so I learned to scavenge for nourishment myself. Some sessions to horrid for me to remember and so I have long forgotten them...but never the lesson...."
You look up from the text, your eyes sore from the strain of reading the print in such a bad lighting. Taking up a piece of paper to mark where you left off and sets the book back down upon the desk reverently. Resting your weary head upon the desk you ponder what youʻve witnessed from the book that you soon come to realize that when you were reading the actions and events described by the book seemed to play out in front of you. The flames of the candles seemed to dance hypnotically, bending and waving in the still room air seemed to act as the movie screen and play out in vivid detail. Slowly you doze off into sleep.....
~To Be Continued~
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cyprus
New Member
You got it all wrong, I donʻt hate you. Im just not necessarily excited about your existence.
Posts: 13
|
Post by cyprus on Dec 16, 2014 19:44:18 GMT
…You slowly arise to the slight pangs of hunger gnawing at your gut, with a few stray papers sticking to the side of your face and the indentation of the fabric weavings from the sleeve of your shirt from which you had rested your weary head upon the night before. The human skin leather bounded book laid on the desk where you had last touched it. Upon waking you would notice the weird candles had extinguished themselves during the night but amazingly haven’t burnt down their tall wax stands. Pushing back upon the chair, you rise and stretch letting out a grunt of delight before your eyes land once more upon the book. Reaching down taking up the book you flip to the last page and skim through to where you left off…
“…The pain….the only thing that I could count on was the pain. It never lets me down to let me know I still must trudge through another sleepless night and fight to even take a step in any direction. Most of you high breed royalty types had the luxury to battle legions of demon spawns and human armies with your trainers to perfect your skills…I was among the poor to where everyday was a constant battle, you had no luxury to fight side by side with someone trustworthy for here? Here is where everyone is an enemy planning your demise in grave detail. Punishment was the least of your worries….if I collapsed in malnourishment or exhaustion I would at least sustain 5 broken ribs while I hang suspended by my wings with massive hooks through the bones above a raging fire. Heaven compared to other days when I failed the wishes of my creators. There is one thing you must know, down there the demons, of lower rank including the higher ups love to bet in battle tournaments. This, The Pit Battle Arena, is where I truly learned how to fight….nothing was taught to me I was forced to learn by myself, to adapt or die a horrid death. I was pitted against many demons of all types; Shades, Cambions, Alps, ArchDeamons, Jikininkis, Nickar, and even Abbadon (My favorite companion who still resides within my dwelling) and many more whose names time has swallowed from my mind. ”
Reaching the end of the first entry you mark the page once more and this time pocket the book as you walk down stairs snooping around for the kitchen. Walking into a more or less pristine well kempt kitchen you find the refrigerator but see it is filled with nothing but glass vials some filled with multicolored mixtures and others just straight pure colors. All tediously marked, labeled in small, black ink, capital letters, and organized precisely even. Sighing in exasperation you close the refrigerator door finding nothing to eat as you walk over into the living room and look about. No pictures deck the walls yet you find more candles upon nightstands, tables, desks, and such. Looking over upon another shelving piled with more books and journals most books carrying no titles, just nameless pieces of literary works. The massive collections of books reminding you of the book you carry within your pocket as your hand slips into your pocket out of habit to grab it as she seat yourself at the living room couch. And open it up skipping past a few journal entries till one catches your eyes....
"December XXXX (6 years later) I was created in the month of Moloch, the Chief of Hellʻs Army, the month of December, where Molochʻs power was most strong. “And thou shalt not let any of thy seed pass through the fire to Moloch”. Moloch was a frightful sight to those who do not know him well, covered in the blood of the children he murdered and drenched in the tears of grieving mothers. He always was anxious to start immediate warfare against God for some odd reason. Due to the fact I was created under the month of Moloch it was only natural he took me under his command. And thus from him I learned to be emotionless, having no mercy like He when killing…. To have no feeling of being emotionally attached to someone or something. I was trained to kill without second thought, my eyes in a force of habit remain cold and unmoving when looking into the eyes of the dying and/or dead for I feel no pity. I am afraid I can not recount much of the vast trainings and harsh injuries I have gained over the my years down there especially recanting Molochʻs methods to be completely emotionless for I am swore and killed in secrecy to these ancient demon ways of training their young brood. Now…do not get me wrong when I say I am emotionless and thus cannot feel emotionally, for I am not attached to anyone or anything, my soul purpose is to kill. It does not mean I don’t know what happiness is, or sorrow, or hatred, or love, and etc, for I know them very well. I have long been studying the habits of mankind throughout my years roaming between these planes, so long I have studied I am able to recreate and fabricate these emotions well although I can never truly feel them. I am able to adapt and convert, choosing the appropriate emotion that a human being might conjure.
Many ask who or more of what….am I? And I reply…I am many in one, the only of my kind…for I never fit in. I am a true alternative. That is my role, to be different from the rest. I am the deformity in every uniformity, the mutation of every gene. The outcaste to the caste system and the lone one in every crowd. I am never afraid of being different. I am not ashamed to express my weirdness. I dare to be pariah. I am afraid of falling into the expectations of society and social ranking. I am the malfunction in every machine. The mistake to every action and the imperfection in every design. To me, being called weird is like being called LIMITED EDITION, meaning I am something people don’t see, that I am are often remembered by that. I must say I do not do well to conform to the rules of social expectations of ranking…for I am not among the classifications of demon rankings. I am neither of high ranking nor of low class I am simply a classification of my own for there is none and never will be another of my kind. I was a failed ʻexperimentʻ, some may say, of the Four ArchDemons who sought to use me as a way to destroy the others for them to rule over Hell. Although ~Heehee~ I don’t listen to rules very well…nor do well to take orders from others as I may be a bit wild…..”
~To Be Continued~
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