RP:Desparrow's Mad Proclamation

Part of the A Dream of Tyranny Arc

Cathedral of the Divine Three

Xersom stood in the Cathedral in a stark juxtaposition of darkness to contrast the radiant glory and light of the setting he stood in, which was flawed by the excessive amounts of crimson smeared across the walls and the destruction of the pews in chaotic, haphazard messes throughout the once-pristine gallery. Bodies littered the stone and carpet flooring, which cast askew iron-wrought candle-holders and rent pillows with their stuffing trailed across the room in displays of opened carcassess, sliced, diced, or hewn apart by the merciless edge of a ruthless blade. Weapons split in two were numerous, as well, indicative that the attacks on these priests, monks, and even civilians were not even slightly hindered by the blades meant to parry or shield their wielders from the onslaught. Sacrilus, however, stood facing and just before an immaculate shrine to the three supreme gods, which was both untouched and untarnished despite the violence that occurred here or the presence of the definitively evil being. He was clad in obsidian armor, as if forged from the very bowels and pits of Hell, and their surfaces of glossy black carved in a fiery cascade of reds and oranges for script in some infernal language, like a heretical litany comprehended only by those who've retained either divine or demonic blood. In one gauntleted hand was held a curved and edged longsword, of which was so impenetrably dark that it actually seemed to suck in the light and air around it, like some reverse-glow into the depthless black that it was made of. His head was covered by a thick black cloth, which obscured everything from face to contours; now, however, a helm that depicted a demon's face frozen in a snarl rested over it, the eyeholes and open mouth implicit to his features and yet that veil hid whatever lied beneath quite efficiently. Thick, gaseous shadow swirled at his plated boots around ankle-height, and that obscured the floor.

Desparrow was out with his pack on this night offering false promises of safety and protection for themselves and their loved ones to all of those whom he passed by. That was until the pungent scent of blood and its sweet irony taste assaulted his senses from within one of the buildings that he had never stepped foot within for reasons unknown. Hues turned to the six fledglings following and he waved them to stay put before stepping within the threshold that granted him view of the destruction and the single figure at the shrine that due to circumstance was assumed to be the culprit. The moment the doors behind him closed and he knew he was alone with this single entity did he cast aside all illusions leaving him to appear as a pale half breed between an elf and a drow, scarred from his left ear which was missing the top half, down to his neck where vision of flesh was lost due to clothing. Vague interest accompanied his features as he scanned the scene and he had to admit it was beautiful, as was the nature of the being at the shrine with the blade that appeared to be comprised of the void and what he could see of the creature’s powerful stature. In Xersom’s presence he had no desire to challenge what he could sense was a greater power, nor attempt to boast his own and therefore kept his magical essence sealed, even bothering to tighten the reigns to further conceal it. By comparison he wore nothing special: suede shoes, leather pants, a button up dress shirt and a large crystal that hung from his neck, roughly the size of his own hand if not slightly larger.

Xersom did not immediately move; Desparrow's presence was felt, moreso than seen, considering that the towering and armored figure of Sacrilus remained facing the shrine and seemingly unconcerned for looking back over a plated shoulder at the lycan. Instead, the implication was that his gaze rested on the effigy itself rather than anything else, made apparent by the direction of his helm's demonic face and point of its black-steel-made features atop that veiling blackness. Then, the general of Arrecation moved -his armored gauntlet lifted, slowly, in an ascenscion that brought his plated palm upward and level with his face before the resonate 'click' of that metal struck one another as his hand clenched into a fist. There was sudden screaming and utter agony that derived from outside, the other side of that door that separated the fledglings and the alpha; they were being slaughtered by the mere motion of the being's hand, in the most brutal of fashions. No matter what, tht door would not budge -Desparrow would simply have to hear the ones he brought die outside.

Desparrow had no intention of distracting the being before him, not out of fear, but out of the desire to observe. When Xersom finally did move, even though it appeared to be just the raising of a hand the lycanthrope raised a brow. That was when he heard the struggle and screams of his pack members outside and the subsequent winking out of their presence, that lack of resonation between their souls. At first he may have felt alarm but truly all of it was a farce, a means to an end and their loss was of little consequence, more would be made and he would continue his experiments. Knowing his allies were dead the left corner turned up just slightly, a smirk which betrayed his arrogance. In the silence he lifted his arms, bent at the elbows which rested on his sides and his palms faced the ceiling in a gesture which challenged, ‘what next?’.

Xersom 's hand lowered as those lives were stolen from the gathered outside, likely in the most gruesome way; whether Desparrow cared about the lives of those he had brought or not seemed not at all to concern or even interest the ancient, who still had yet to look over his plated shoulder toward the interloper and instead kept his 'gaze', which was still veiled behind that curtain of black cloth beneath his infernal helm, on the effigy of the divine three before him. "I grow weary." It was the sound of his voice, emanating from his very presence as if echoing all around the room and projected forth from the depths of the shadows that lingered in flickering corners as well as the dark haze that suffocated the candlelight that surrounded the pair; the sound was both sinister and soothing, like a madman's lullaby, intoxicating and dangerous all at once, like poisoned wine. "Filth line the streets. This city has become like its predecessors -a haven for scum and brigands. I have no use for them, just as I have no intention of allowing this place to be swept away by the tide. No. I will cleanse it myself. Tell me..." Now he turned, his massive frame 'clicking' in his Hellforged armor in order to slowly twist and reposition to face the present lycan, "Should I not remove you from here as well? Clean the stain you have left as I purge these streets of the slugs that call them home?"

Desparrow agreed entirely with the statement that the city was diseased, its purity desecrated by the filth that wandered about. The nature of the voice did not bother him, in fact in a memory it was an ability he once was able to replicate, to manipulate the shadows and project thought, words, voices but it seemed it was lost on him now. As Xersom turned Des’ left eye switched to a bright violet, one that appeared to be glowing but in fact gave off no actual light and it was with this eye he could view the cloth of reality more clearly, between the planes. It was with the eye that he could manipulate his own powers with far greater precision and to his own disdain he no longer had his right eye of the same kind, having granted it to Linn. The eye however had a deeper meaning for the lycan, as it was one of the few things that remained from his first incarnation as Dsperil, whom upon death had been transplanted, mind and soul into the fetus that grew into the current man that stood in the room now. “In this hallowed place I declare that I act in spite of Sven. His world and its inhabitants are the cause of my desolation, my kind dead aside from me and my son, which like me has blood from this world running in his veins. It in itself is filthy, and I will do as I desire. I will continue to destroy, I will continue to turn the lives of those around me into weapons for my own use in my quest for power till the day when I challenge Sven himself. Destroy me, I will find a way to continue to exist. I am barely here as it is, my own mortality a curse, a disgrace to my family’s name and I disgrace the name Serpent of Destruction. I will not cease till I shake the throne of God and quake the halls of heaven. You tell me, what will you do?”

Xersom bellowed with a sound that resonated throughout the chambers in a hellish, shrieking sound that was far more akin to a demon, a wraith and something entirely unnatural and foreign to this world; the destroyed remnants of pews and pedestals, now broken and scattered throughout the cathedral, all violently trembled with fluctuating force. "Do I look like Sven holds my piety?!" A few steps are taken down the dias steps and toward Desparrow, not nearly enough to cross the distance between the two but with an echoing and thunderous crashing of his plated boots against the floor beneath him. A pause, a silence that hung thick in the air like manifested tension, before that smooth, sinister voice returned. It could be seen that Sacrilus, this armored fiend, existed on more than one plane; on multiple planes, simultaneously, as Desparrow's eye could more keenly scrutinize; each held staggering and nearly incomprehensible power. "I fought Sven, I fought Hind, and I fought Lore. I served Arrecation, I am part of the Nameless King himself. I taught Solaris and Kaizer how to become gods, I wield powers your mind could not even fathom. I care little about your son and less about you -I would not merely destroy you, I would wipe your name from the annals of time itself- your existence would cease, soul, body, and every fiber and shred of what you are sifted upon the winds like falling ash and dust." He leaned forward slightly, as if to more easily view the upstart mortal, "You are far from shaking the throne of mortal men, let alone that of the gods."

Desparrow comprehended at least the existence of a being that spanned many planes at once. The gap in power between them was truly unfathomable but it made the male want to aspire to greater heights even more, knowing that this being is of a greater level. He could boast no such feats or properties that Xersom could, and only recognizing a few of the names from his past, Solaris and Kaizer in particular where the nameless king and Arrecation had a very vague presence in his memory if any at all. Sacrilus’ words were a challenge to Des, and were taken as such, ones that he felt this urge to disprove though right now as they sank in, the minimal existence he had was a shackle he had no desire to bear. He released the binds on his own power resulting in an explosive release of ether, raw magical energy from which all spells, all things arcane were comprised, birthed. The same energies saturated his flesh, they were also his only form of life at this point, an angry companion with a sword putting him in a state of near-death that was the catalyst for this heavily magic-reliant life. What would be considered normal men, and even others not so normal but still were lesser to Des raw power would feel the energy as a pressure, a weight upon the body around him in a growing, pulsing radial aura however this would have no effect upon the ancient being. “You avoided my question.” The lycan in the face of such a threat did not waver or display any manner of fear knowing he should feel something but perhaps it was total oblivion, at least the chance of it that wiped away such fear. If he was to fall anyways, then why bother living with such fears. “Destroy me if you will, see the result for yourself.” As he spoke the ether that surrounded him continued to expand, a result of the ceaseless trickle of it that was produced by his body, the one natural gift of being what he was, the Serpent of Destruction. “Wipe me from all things, even if I do not reform another will take my place, and repeat the cycle. It is nothing to me truly. I have my goals, this world, the inhabitants. It will burn. I will continue as I have, planning my attacks accordingly until I have amassed the power to do exactly as I have claimed I will do. Again however. What will you do?”

Xersom lifted his accursed blade, of which was forged with that utter darkness that seemed to draw in the very light around it, in order to point it toward that raw power and energy of ether that swirled and expanded around Desparrow. As the weapon came into contact with the heavily saturated magics and free-flowing power, it began to become sucked into the depths of the darkness that was the blade of that accursed weapon. More and more were swallowed into the silhouette of the curved with a seemingly insatiable and nihilistic hunger; a void that was never filled no matter how much the weapon consumed. But, before it could grow dangerous, Sacrilus lowered his weapon and cut off the flow. "I will wait. I will wait until you prove you are worthy of what you claim and not the worm I see before me now. And at the apex of your apparent power, I will test it. If it is worthy, then I will stand aside and allow your crusade. If it is unworthy, I will purge this world of you." He did not seem to incorporate being defeated; he could not be.

Desparrow was not going to watch the blade absorb the essence without any manner of fight, the sorcerer was no pushover. He was born a being capable of wielding this power and was not going to allow it to be taken so easily. The lycan was a man of exceptional willpower limited only by his physical limitations. Eyes narrowed and he enforced his will on the ether and it halted even against the pull of the blade. All his concentration was on halting its absorption into the depths of nothing and for many seconds it was an unseen fight but there was no gain on either side. Sadly Des was a being of a physical nature and the harder he concentrated; the more he had to fight reality the more detrimental it was, visible as a trickle of blood from his nostrils leading over his lips. Even against the pain of hooves trampling across the soft flesh of his brain he continued the fight to the threshold of passing out, only giving when a blood vessel had burst in his right eye, more ichor seeped from his ears and his vision blurred. It was then that what he could salvage was immediately drawn into his own body to limit what was taken by the blade. The male was seething now, “I will overcome mortality, when I have breached the limits of this disgusting body. I will be limitless. I will not peak, I will not descend, only grow. I will transcend, the powers of the cosmos will bend to me, and the stars will impart upon me the vastness of knowledge the endless void conceals from me granting me all that I need.” Desparrow seemed thoroughly convinced this was possible and even in his current state of weakness defied his own body and for a moment stood tall and proud but injured against his opposition.

Xersom , on the contrary, was completely uninjured; the fight against Desparrow was given no effort in contrast to the amount that the other male had to resist and battle in order to keep his ether. In a sense, Sacrilus was surprised that the other could even resist the pull of the blade at all, but it was of no matter because the entire ordeal was not even a fraction of exertion on the armored ancient's behalf. The sorceror may not have been a pushover, yet the dark being was something simply incomparable, simply too powerful, with all of the master over dark magic that eras and eras of life afforded. "I will wait for you to prove your claim, for as it is, you have far a ways to go." The doors swung open behind Desparrow then; the murdered fledglings were just large crimson stains upon the stairs and road. "Go now, before I end your ambitions before they see the light of day." Desparrow had no intention of obeying the being regardless of the immense expanse between their power. He released a deep breath, closed his eyes and delved into his own body. In his mind’s eye he could see the entire make up of his body, see what was going on, all the way down to a molecular level if he focused hard enough but the damage could only allow him a portion of control over the cells of his form. Each cell was magical, infused with it for so long it was inherent and on silent command he willed an accelerated mitosis that sped to dizzying rates while cannibalizing the damaged cells for extra energy until he had entirely repaired the damage he had done which was something he had never tried before. Luckily his lycanthropy granted him an extended lifespan, if the idea cells had a limited number of divisions programmed into their existence stood true. “You do not command me.”

Xersom 's body straightened with a slight 'click' of armored plates. "If you fight me now, you will be destroyed, eradicated -erased. And all you will leave behind is the legacy of a pitiful mortal vessel with delusional ideas."

Desparrow knew this, down to the depths of his core especially knowing that this being existed across many planes, so solidified in reality. "That may very well be, but I leave of my own volition, certainly not because you have any sway over my decisions. I would threaten you for killing my pawns but of course they would be empty words. Ones that I could not back up, so I will simply demand you do not do it again. You want to see me grow in power, then don't interfere." with that he pivoted on his right heel and began to walk out of the cathedral. It was a pity, the mess that his pack members were but he would simply make more.

Xersom said nothing more, and the doors swung shut behind Desparrow; it appeared that Cathedral would be where Sacrilus would remain for some time.