The Re-Forging of the Soul

[Fratello De Diavoli]

The darkest part of the Castle of Darkness was a chamber not meant for the eyes of mortals or those who did not share a direct lineage with the Castle's owner. The walls in the chamber were alive with a conscious flow of negative energy that radiated dark hues of violet and ebony. Ancient runes which had been placed in this vault of power leaked pure dark magic across the ceiling and floor like a spiders web. Each tendril, however, had its base. A point in which all the energy connected and flowed inward and down into the heart of the living being. That point was the sarcophagus of Ventrue.

Sin, who had a long history with the kindred, kneeled before the sarcophagus and lowered his head in meditated thought. As he let his spirit free of its mortal shell he was aware, in that moment, that he was not alone. The runes re-acted to the presence of the intruder and the pulse wave of pure negative power caused a visual ripple to pour into the air around him which nearly suffocated his mind in a void of death. But Sin did not fear, instead he pushed further, calling out to the ancient spirit that rested peacefully in eternal slumber. He called for Ventrue to come. His wish was granted.

~Why do you disturb me Sin~ The vibration of the spirits message sent a ear splitting shock to the body of the kneeling man and nearly caused him to buckle under the pressure. A hand gripped hard against the tomb and Sin refocused.

~I am in need of help Ventrue, war is upon me again and I am in need of a weapon~

There was a pause in the connection, a lull of energy that left the eternal hum to dull. Near instantly, however, the pulse was back and the hum became more vibrant, nearly deafening.

~There are many who could forge powerful weapons, why do you disturb me Sin.~

Sin was visibly weakening, a small shake started in his shoulder where his weight was beginning to over come and his form falter from the intensity of the connection.

~I need your sword Ventrue.~

Again a wave collided with him, natural defenses of what Ventrue came to call the Onyx beckoned with its energy draining tendrils, powering the connection but weakening the host.

~My sword? What would you do with it?~

A cough broke the eerie silence above the hum of the energy, another full shudder followed it and Sin nearly lost his hold on his body. To lose himself here would be to lose himself forever in the maddening throws of Ventrues living will.

~Emperor Ebonsoul and the Unholy Empire he rules over are soon to go to war. I have seen that this war could lead to others and I find myself ill prepared. I cannot rely on my energy alone, it is not limitless.~

The veins on Sin's head were protruding, he could not release his hold on the physical plane enough to relinquish his form of blood and air. In that chamber he was stuck, forced to maintain a certain level or all would collapse around him. There was a pause given, enough to allow a weak and shuddered breath to pull into the mans lungs. However, that breath was forced back out harshly when the next wave hit.

~You are too neutral for your own good Sin Creed. A time comes in every beings existence to choose a side to walk, the line was never meant to be tread forever. Choose Sin, or be swallowed here.~

It licked at the back of his mind, somewhere deep within a Nightmare stirred. It started at the base of his spine, intertwining laces of negative energy and ancient magic that trickled into his form. It pulled up along the spine and spread out across his quivering body until each muscle, each vein and nerve was covered by it. Muscles clenched and tightened, lips twisted into a menacing scowl, and he choked out a hollow scream.

~Return to your roots, find yourself again. If you survive, I will grant you your wish.~

Then the attack came, from the room of pulsating power came a crackle of pent up magic. Black and violet hues formed liquid fire that raced through the runes and over the tomb pouring down through the cracks and washed over Sin's form. His mind wrenched free of the connection only long enough to open pitch eyes to the web-like ceiling. Another hollow scream painfully forced itself free, and then there was darkness.

[Fratello De Diavoli]

The Onyx magic was created by Ventrue, an ancient kindred whose age was nearly the same as the age of the realm itself. In his prime Ventrue took the magic's of different sources of black magic and began to contort it. He constructed runes to bear the weight of the immense income of negative power and transmuted it through a spire in the rear of his Kingdom. This spire, a grand onyx monument, was the key to Ventrues magic. It was so pure, so untouched by wavering minds and will that even demons shied away from its might. When Ventrue turned to eternal sleep, that power was sealed away in his tomb with him.

Now, in that tomb curled into a fetal ball, was an elder of the realms history. The body pale white and atrophied from the force exerted unto its being. An internal struggle for the right to live and overcome the all consuming fate of the void of magic. When Sin began moving between the realms and the anti-energy began to collect itself into his genetic makeup what Sin had been started fading. A new puzzle had immerged when extra pieces were set into an already finished string. He had forgotten what he was and became too focused on what he had become. A fatal mistake, to forget where one comes from, which he could pay for eternity because of. However, deep within the coma like state in which Sin had found himself in, he came face to face with his darkest fear. Himself.

Days would pass, the Temple again quiet and without life or energy to support its functions. Its master was away, in one of the forgotten corners of the realm fighting a battle within himself, a battle he was losing. To choose to live fully within a single realm, to place all the energy which was made available to him into one corporeal being, to become whole again. This was his test.

Nightmare. Energy stopped acting to will and began to react to an inner will, the stronger more powerful intent of a hunger which had begun to pour free. That same energy would soon be trapped, consumed and made to manifest the nature of the beast. In that moment, Sin awoke briefly and called out a name inaudible between sputtering lips. Then he fell.

What rose was something straight out of his darkest desires and dreams. His muscles began to expand, interlaced with the Onyx it grew in dimension at such a rate that his skin ripped and peeled back to allow for the manifestation to grow. Bones splintered and began to reform as the inky blackness consumed his form inside and out. Toes became malicious claws which glowed red and clawed feverishly at the stone ground. Sparks flew as deep lashes were etched into the floor. Soon fingers and hands, now twice their normal size did the same and also scratched and clawed. His jaw snapped out, bone splintering as the jawbone was forced roughly out and down. Blood seeped from every orafice and sizzled like acid upon the ground. The same red bone-like material pushed free of the reforming maw creating fangs where once teeth had stayed. Violet hues ran like veins that pulsed in the crevice of sinew and muscle. From his forearms and along the back of his skull running down his back liquid fire spurted free. It formed a mane-like feature down his back and along his arms and a more powerful blaze of fire lashed out from the small of his back in the fashion of a tail. The mass of onyx collected then and finished its formation. It solidified itself to a leathery appearance of skin and became whole. It was then in which Sin's conscious re-awoke to the rush of his forgotten nature and the roar that erupted from immense lungs shuddered the foundations of the Castle.

[Fratello De Diavoli]

The Kingdom of Onyx Shadows was quiet in the hours passing the reemergence of Sin's past. The halls were bare and covered in cobwebs and dust. None of Ventrue's guardians stirred within the walls of the Castle. But down within the bowels of the Castle, in the ancient resting place of the Kindred Master, a sarcophagus had been demolished into rubble. Marks along the floor in front of the sarcophagus suggested a large animal viciously attacked it, however there were two who knew the truth.

The first would be seen exiting the disease ridden deadwoods surrounding the Castle within the Kingdom. The mans features were chiseled out of stone, and his eyes were forever tarnished the color of garnet. He wore rags which once resembled clothing yet save for a few burn marks on his skin and the protrusion of two vampiric like fangs he seemed in good health physically. He walked forward with purpose and his demeanor was carried in his stride. Few travellers seen the man, none would approach him. His eyes seemed to see past them, through them, to some further destination which no person would stop him from reaching. They would call him damned, a tortured souless being. They were wrong.

The second would never speak of what transpired. Being forever bound to his honor his word was as ironclad as his will. When the re-awakening had transpired and the connection to the multi-realm closed for good, his functioning intent manifested itself from the pieces left over. Shards of broken runes began to collect and the sarcophagus cracked and shattered piece by piece as the energy reversed direction and pooled upward from the heart of the tomb. It fashioned itself into a blade, wrapped itself around itself and flattened to purpose. It sharpened its fabric and etched itself into a mock-metal gaining shine and detail. It flowered open and provided a pummel and handle and wrapped its new found form into fashion of leather and silver. And its sharpness would cut clean through the heavy metallic doors which kept the chamber secure and whatever else its blade touched out of the will to destroy. When the intent was realized and the Onyx branded forever into the ornament weapon its living conscious, its will forged itself into the depths of its fibers. Strengthening it and making it real.

This blade, an unnamed weapon sheathed in a onyx scabbard, was bore on the hip of the wandering creature. It hummed softly, letting out a faint trail of the purest evil ever to manifest in the realms. A sound so void-like, so hollow that it did not reverb audibly, it would only be felt.

Both sword and wanderer made its way to the gates of the Unholy Empire before the strain of the mental, spiritual, and physical weight of the full experience overcame him one final time and he would collapse in front of the guards and again find darkness there to soothe him.