Enjoy it, While It Lasts.. (NSFW)

May 30, 2015:

Satana and Daimon intervene in their familial summoning, Seikatsu sort of gets caught in the middle. (NSFW due to graphic imagery)

Some Graveyard


NPCs: Three occultists


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…


A candelight vigil in the form of a pentagram centers an open space of the graveyard. Samuel Morse would turn over twice with the fallacy that his remains bore to hear, the three men in hooded cloaks, all surrounding a small pig that lays bloodied and twitching within the circle. They begin their paces, a slow march to the tune of a drum, music played backwards which allows the erie monotones to settle in the darkness.

"Conjuro te, Satan…" The obvious leader crones out, stilleto blade that wavers within the fires of the candles wick draws the light to the blood that still runs fresh from the blade.

"Accipere munus tuum sinum tuum, servi tui fideles terrae ut ambulet premum thuribulum!"

Hollow words for someone who wants power, all for a woman..


Takeda Seikatsu, or.. Seikatsu Takeda awakens with a start, her hands drawing up to lightly rub at her eyes, a yawn taking her as she places her feet upon the floor. The way she walks is near zombie like, Max hot upon her heels as she bumps a bit into a wall, staggering back to feel around for the opening to the bathroom door. Her comm blinks and chirps, as she allows the water to run to dash against her face, a slight sigh given as she presses the button upon her hip. "I'm on my way Kitt'taen.." She grumbles out, then begins to wash her face and brush her teeth..


"Ego instigo vos ! Animam meam in manu tua!"

The last breaths of the small animal graces the air as the men begin to dance around its corpse.. the taint of the ritual staining the ground below it.. sinking into the earth..


Seikatsu staggers back, her hand grasping against her chest as she tugs and pulls away the pendulum which felt hot against her skin. Just when she was about to rip it off and throw it..


She heard the music first, her bare feet squelching against the wetness of the grass as she staggers forward, hand reaching out to settle upon a tree, lone in the thick of others. She could hear it. The chants, the sounds.. smell the dead animal.. it all made her skin positively crawl.

Daimon Hellstrom tends to hear the occasional Satanic summoning. It's partially that he listens for them and, in part, simply a matter of cross-frequency contamination - his spiritual resonance wasn't that much different from his father's, even if they found themselves usually at odds. There might be a lot of so-called Satans out there, but his father was one of the most prominent and certainly one of the most prone to come up in a summoning ritual. There were far too many eager goth girls out there for him to take advantage of and father's appetite for the flesh was well known (and certainly embodied in the persona of Daimon's sister - not that Daimon was exactly a prude).

So, when he feels the hints of this particular ritual, he figures he might as well crash the party. He manifests through a simple portal of hellfire, but, instead of appearing in the center, he shows up at the outskirts, likes someone who just happened to make his way to the place. When he spots Reese, however, his eyebrows arch up quite dramatically. Well, that's not a development he expected.

"Sheesh, you guys didn't even bring a goat. Are you even trying that hard?"

One answer, another. The final one will also not be at all what these practitioners wanted, but that is what you get for being untried and attempting to summon a being that could swallow this worlds souls. Instead they get junior and juniorette. But the 'ette' is not as kindly, not right now, not when yet another leash is felt pulling upon her metaphysically while another bears the dried blood encrusting in the formation of sigils…

Their candles flames dance, a wind unfelt pitches the small illuminations, threatening to snuff them before the fire seems to stretch, one small flame stretched to meet the other forming a line, one that dominoes to fully line out the pentagram and its empowerment before it bursts upward and eminates awhole new color, a whole new resonance, moulding into soulfire as the shadows pitched to the heart of the pantagram begin to rise.

Ichor formd, blood and shadows in the cascade of hair down her back and over her shoulder, parted to frame diabolic visage and break around the curved horms that protrude from her head, glistening onyx and tipped in silver. Hands push outward and the flames scatter, encircling each of the gothic youths forms, not yet burning them… But the moment isvery close as foretold by the sneer passing on lips pushed and punctured by the reptilian quartet of canines.

"Fucking humans playing games. You cannot control an entity of /hell/ upon the blood of a mere beast unworthy…" Pausing as Daimon speaks up.

"What he said."

The portal of hellfire had the men kneeling where they stopped their dance and stood, stiletto blades pressed to the air, each of them practiced this sound ritual time and time and again and the night, which was a forty six and two when it started, was the perfect night for a ritual, the perfect night for them to summon their god to walk the earth.

Instead.. they get Daimon.

Even rose? Satana.

There was a mix of bewilderment among the three as they try to rise, the licking of the flames keeping them upon their knees as one lurches and hurls himself against the ground with both hands planted and steeped to the other. The ringleader, shoves his hood from his face, allowing his visage to be seen.

And he wasn't all that pretty, but he was lean and strong, his face almost looked as if it were made of muscle and strong, obvious fractures were born within his features due to childhood bullying without the need nor want to ever get fixed due to parental neglect. He would have been handsome, if someone cared about him.

"Who the fuck are you two and what is the meaning of this!? WE DIDNT CALL YOU!" He raises his blade threateningly, but it could be easily seen the way his hand tremble and shook.

The pig? Well.. the lesser one explains.. "It's all we could afford.."

It was the thought that counts.

Reese slowly tucked herself back behind the tree.. sliding down its bark so that she could settle in, indian style. She could feel the way the six of them tainted the earth by brief flashes of power.. and that need to fix it was great. Her eyes close, and soon she slowly inhaling…



And soon? Her eyes opening, allowing that light within her to manifest as she drops herself into the world of the ley.. right where the damned had gathered.

Fucking. Pendulum.

Daimon Hellstrom shrugs off his longcoat, letting it fall to the ground, his open shirt leaving his pentagram brand exposed. It bursts into flame, crackling flames running along the Mark of the Beast, his head cocked, "Awwwwwwwwwww, did someone not get the malevolent entity somebody was calling? Gosh, how sad. Somebody cue up the violins, get out the box of tissues. I…I do believe he's going to cry," he says, finally laughing and shaking his head.

"Hello, sister. Heard the call, too, eh? You here to protect father's good name or just looking for something to play with?" he says. Even as he speaks, though, he moves somewhat, walking a bit to try and position himself between Reese and Satana. He didn't know whether his sister meant the blind woman any harm, but he had no intention of finding out one way or another. While he and Reese may not have precisely sorted out what their own connection to one another was yet, he had enough interest in the woman to make sure she didn't end up getting soul-sucked anytime soon.

At least, not by Satana.

"What do you say, for old times' sake, we kick these three around a bit? It's not like they aren't asking for it. I can smell the sins from here…"

"Father's good name needs no protecting," Pausing her head turns towards the one who dropped into fealty within his own ring of soulfire that Satana let lower around him to just a small ignition. "As this one displays."

The leader though has one corner of her lips ticking heavenward, stepping towards him, cloven hooved path brushed in silence by the silken fur lining that cascades from vinyl clad thighs. Svelte figure emcompassed and wrapped covetously by liquid shadows, and yet it seemed a man hand picked where skin revealed, leaving that curvature of hips bare, the sloping indent of hourglass side as well as the path pointed just above apex to widen and barely keep hold of womanly hills as well as valleys. Treacherous turns in this one, once a flawless skinscape betwixt though, there is a sigil 'hand carved' into the plane just below breasts at the base of ribcage. Sigils en-circulum, the bloodied mess they once were healing slowly.

The reason for the rage that dance in the backdrop of brimstone gaze.

"Not this one, he is beautiful." Satana states, her approach towards the marred leader has a hand extending, but if he does not move a lovers embrace has him by the throat, that whip-like tail slashing around to lash upon his hip and then caress inward along his thigh…

Satana LOG eDIT: Pausing, Satana's head turns blablalabla

Satana though considers her brother, his position, and that care in the blind one that disappears and reappears. "Old times do not change the new, but I am up for it. Can /she/ handle it?" Satana states, both manicured brows rising upon forehead as her chin takes a lofty perk, all the while brushing her cheek along the leaders in doing so, even if he squirms, she holds him in a deadly constrictors embrace.


Many of the dead wander below, their movements not aimless. It appears there is a sort of gathering there, all angry, nipping at the feet of the ones who kneel above, arms stretched out, forming into claws that swipe angrily at the men in wait of their arrival. It was odd; the partial souls that have been captured and taken by the three have rested here within the lines, drawing out their own taint into the earth. They were like phantoms of themselves, the angry parts..

Reese slowly approaches, one hand upon her katana, drawing from it's sheath to grasp at the long hair she manifests with. The dark locks were held aloft and slashed away with a swipe of her blade, the tendrils falling slowly to the ground, and disappating with a flash of blue light.

The blade returns to it's sheath as she moves closer, wary..


"I'm not going to cry!" The leader lashes out, with only tongue and not blade, yet it was still held defensively. The other two know when they were cowed and culled, yet however.. they also know that they will not go down without a fight.

Guilt flashes before their eyes; they were with sin. And a lot of it. Murders, rapes, victim-filled crimes that ruined lives and this was the pinnacle, and within the ley line their production. The parts where the light within the souls that were tainted, fell there. And lived beneath their feet.

"Please.." One begs, but the other was shown attention to, the leader who's gaze, while filled with fear, masked a hidden desire as he's touched.. maybe.. just maybe.. The free hand reaches out towards Satana.. wanting to touch. And if he does touch? He'll try to grasp hold and make bleed with a cut to the throat.

Perhaps the blood of one of His own will draw him within.

Daimon Hellstrom grasps the wrist of the one who reaches out towards Satana, watching as the leader is ensorcelled by his sister's irresistable grip, seduced to the soul and likely as priapic as a teenager with his first copy of Hustler. "She's an old soul and not so innocent as one might think. And I've never made a pretense of kindness," he says. He casually snaps the man's forearm, drawing a howl of pain as the cultist sinks to his knees alongside the antichrist.

He turns his gaze to the other cultist, flicking his fingers in an arcane gesture until tendrils of eldritch energy, blood-red and searing, wrap around the man like netting, burning skin where it touches and cinching him into place, mummifying him in a reflection of the very suffering he's inflicted. Lovely and poetic and quite just, in its own demonic way.

"Play with your food if you must, Satana, it makes no difference to me, so long as we put an end to this particular little coven quickly enough. There are enough things loose in the world without such as these blowing in ithe wind," he says. Even as he speaks, though, he projects his thoughts out to Reese, his consciousness bearing the mark of his Darksoul, giving his voice a sibilant, booming echo that seems to reverbrate along the canyons of hell, as if the souls of the damned echoed his words in her mind. Do you need assistance, Seikatsu, or would you prefer I keep my sister and these baboons distracted so that you can finish your cleansing?

The one Satana held, stroked, toyed with, and crooned - with the stroke of cheek much akin to felines it was like she was marking him, Daimon saw it while he set the cadence of the orchestral with the first snap and the first plaintive cry of /pain/. A purr eminated from her lips, her head tilting to direct her lips towards the leaders brow…

The blade flashes, the knife cutting and finding home upon her throat, slicing wide and leaving everything to bear in that blood red gashing smile. He did it, he managed to…

Satana's grip did not lessen, it tightened as the blood spilled down her front, over ample bosom and that veves wound carved into her skin, pooling at navel. Claw tipped hand tightens and there is a *pop* that resounds as she thrusts him back and away, dislocating his larynx from its placement, making him twist, writhe and claw at her grip and his throat while she holds him aloft and then drags him against her without words as she could speak none, instead blood boils…

Her lips crush against his, those of long past abuse, those of utterances of olde to bring forth the evil of souls, to trap them; how own now being pulled free as he chokes on unpassed breath, where her fingers had sunk into his neck and claws hooked in within blood oozes forth, unable to congeal and descend slowly along his collar. That adulterous kiss has her drawing away with a gasp now, the sliced esophagus healed, and balanced upon his lower lip is that glowing moth to which Satana takes to with teeth, suckling and nursing upon his lower lip while locking brimstone eyes upon his own.

Dath ratle as the life fades and her wound heals just enough she can talk, words of gasoline over gravel.

"He ruined my play." Those words though, bore a slowly embroiling rage.


With the men taken care of above, leaving one left, Reese keeps her hand upon the hilt of her blade.. approaching the horde of souls with a wary breath, hearing the sound boom through her head as she glances upright with a sharp cut of a glance.

I'm getting out. There's too many here..

And with that, she slowly steps back, her blade slowly drawn from it's shelf as she backs into the ghost of one of the tortured. Just that touch alone draws all gaze upon her, their hands slowly lifting, pointing.. creating a sound that resembles a horn that echoes through the lines..

She was caught.


The men, the one who had summoned.. 'the devils' felled, one oozing with blood, the other with his arm cracked, the last wrapped in eldritch fire.. the last one to truly remain is the one with the damaged arm.. who was crawling away from the gruesome two, screaming as he goes.

It was a scream and sob that no man should ever produce in his lifetime, one wrought with desperation, pain and fear, regret of what he had done.. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, please spare me!" He begs. Seeing what had happened to his comrades, he was done. Maybe, though.. it was just too late.

Daimon Hellstrom ignores the cries of the wounded and the damned, because he doesn't give a lick about them, beyond the damage of the moment. He raises an eyebrow at his sister's rather artful execution of the man, even as she gets her breasts bathed in blood (and likely not for the first time today knowing her). "I don't think he realized it was a game. They rarely do."

His monitoring of Reese's condition makes him gnash his teeth a bit, realizing that the astrally projected woman was getting caught up by the spirits of the dead. Helping her would leave him a bit vulnerable, requiring him to project his own consciousness and, as such, exposing his throat a little bit to his sister. Not a particularly comforting idea, given how casually she just tore her pretty cultist to shreds. But neither could he leave Reese hanging out to dry.

"Here, play with these, then," he says, a flick of his wrist telekinetically gasping the remainng two and hurling them at her feet like a sacrifice, taking a moment before he slips his body a bit, only half-aware of his physical frame as he shoves and dives down amidst the dead, his Darksoul leaving a blasting trail of winged hellfire in his wake and making them recoil as he dived for the blind woman's spirit.

At this point, there is no play with Satana. It is all wrung out of her and left bare with a hunger, an infernal thirst, and a /need./

From the dead leaders grip she takes his anthame blade that aided in slaying the pig that's corpse is cooking and filling the air with a stink humans dared to call 'breakfast'. Afterall, the weilder of the blade is the weilder of the power, andher brothers offering is accepted though she knows that look, the one of him slipping elsewhere amongst their familial games he tired of and ran from even as a boy.

"Tsk, Daimon." Satana utters, that gravelly response smoothing out over time with the rapidity of healing, but she had to feed, had to fill that gaping hole… Standing over the one who sobbed and sought escape she lowers, a crouch that places her hips down into a pinning restraint upon his chest while the one enveloped in soulfire stops seeing the pulls of his mind darkest pleasure to assuage him and begins to scream. His fears, his nightmares flashing before his eyes as his soul is devoured in her pull of the devourer. The one writhing and screaming beneath her pin…

"Shhhshhhsh." A single digit presses upon his lips as she lowers to hover over his body, the blood spattered torso pressing and smearing against his own to where she can feel the rabbit-race of his heartbeat pound against her chest.

"Free those souls with your undoing." A curse, a request, as she was not about to project herself as well, knowing betterand with current circumstance…

That anthame is slammed into the crying mans ribcage, just between to sever and rupture, tearing inward along the path. If done correctly, that one will be joining Reese and her companion, Daimon to 'set them free'.

It was true, the men that they slaughtered and tortured really didn't know it was a game. One of them wanted to die to meet his hellish maker, one wanted to cut and tear Satana asunder as he did all of those souls below with the two men and tow, the other just wanted to go home. Even if there was really nothing to return home to..

But as the remainder were flung towards Satana, the last living one held up with a sobbing breath and soothed by a finger that presses against his lips, he found himself locked within a comforting embrace that sealed the fate of his life..

Which was at the pointed tip of the anathame, right into his beating heart. He struggles, squirms, gasps.. the death rattle shaking beneath Satana as his life ends…


There were a horde of ruined lives in the deep, and no matter how much Reese tried to swat and bat them away, they swarmed like moths to an open, freshly living flame. Each soul pushed and pressed its way into Reese, causing her to stumble back, roll and continue to fight with no deterring her resolve. She wanted out. Fuck the cleansing. Some things just couldn't be helped.

Daimon Hellstrom manages to find Reese's spirit, swimming through the muck of the dead until he manages to find her. Part of him wants to tear out and lash at these dark spirits, but there are so many he'd likely just get bogged down, like a mammoth in a tar pit. As it is, he just keeps the heat on, wings of hellfire sprouting from the back of his soul as he wraps himself around Reese in a tight embrace, encircling her in the hellish protection he can offer.

Bat out of hell time he tells her and he tears upwards, flying back up towards his body, his soul snapping towards its proper home like a dude at the end of his bungee cord, the ascent much faster than the descent until suddenly he's back in his flesh, with the blind woman manifesting right in his arms, the two of them stumbling together to the ground in a heap.

Daimon Hellstrom looks up from where he was, as Reese's consciousness snaps into her proper body behind the tree, that brief ghostly manifestation of her flickering away. "Thanks for the assist, sister. One might almost think you cared," he says, pulling himself back slowly up to his feet. "Adjusting well to life on Earth, I take it? I'm surprised you have an appetite, given how much you must have to eat with the world in its current state."

Daimon gets a look, one that almost deadens the flames in the back of lava rolling occulars. Slowly she rises from her perch above the body of the occultist, the soulfire that scorched one to ash now lining a path towards her to dance at her feet as it slinks over and consumes the body of the deceased. The soul was on a mission of redemption, one she was loathe to send, but circumstance… That and she will have a veritable buffet if all goes her way with this.

Stepping out of the flames she walks towards Reese and Daimon, that whip like tail snapping out and curling at her side just before it hangs lazily. A wrinkle of her nose in disdain and she reaches bewixt breasts to pull out a piece of… "Ugh, disgusting humans." Tooth, she kissed him so hard a tooth of his broke and fell into the woman's food trap. Satana doesn't do leftovers.

flicking the bone into the grass her eyes had diverted but /roll/ their way back upon Daimon and his plaything, a quirk of lips there and then down, so quick, a second-thought smirk before lips part. Close in thought, and then part.

…wait for it…

"Nope. I don't."

Now eyes are upon Reese and she bends over, pressing palms between thighs in an almost endearing posture to croon at her like she was talking to a puppy. "Awe, you brought your pweshusss pwaything back!" A hook tipped finger ooja boos at her, covered in blood and visceral remnants.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Being pulled from the nothingness always hurt, especially if embraced in hellfire and things that taint the earth for what it was. Her soul snapping into her body did a number, one that caused her to seize up and issue a few coughs, her body slumping over to curl into a ball.. no..

Something was not quite right. Some of the damned and the howling managed to attach themselves to her as she fought, now crawling beneath the skin, eyes shot open a-glow as the voices in the background soon come into fruition. There was another heave ho, chest rising and falling, hand pushed against the ground as she feels a familiar heat draw near.. was it Daimon?

And then that sing-song voice. Nope. Nope! NOT DAIMON!

But still, Satana was about to gain a treat from 'yours truly', for the way Reese scrambles to her hands and knees to try to crawl away from the woman was tantamount; action spoke words that she was about to hurl and it was not the chunky goodness that no one expects.

"Oh.. oh god.." Reese started, her hand pressing at her chest, the heave.. the dry heaving ho.. the drawback of her spine that sets ass to heel as she positively blows.

Mind out of the gutter folks. This just got real.

The souls whom escaped flow from every orifice upon her face, and quite frankly, it wasn't a pretty sight. Tendrils of red draw from ears, nose, lips and eyes, the sound of a cacophony of hums and buzzes soon filling the air.

Daimon Hellstrom pushes himself up, prepared to defend Reese from Satana's advances when the spew hits the fan, making even Daimon recoil a bit in shock, "Whoa," he says, raising a hand to shield his eyes a little bit, "That's…wow…" he says.

"And she's not my plaything. She's my friend. You may not be familiar with those, but they're actually pretty common here on the Earth plane. You earn them by being trustworthy and helping each other out. You might try it, if you could think about anything other than feeding and getting your sick jollies on for more than five minutes," he says, although his voice sounds more like an older brother's chiding than the kind of bile he sometimes sends her way. Not that he's softened on her that much, but he just can't spare the energy for the contempt at the moment. She is who she is, at this point, he's done trying to save her, even from herself. Satana will have to figure out her own path - Daimon's nobody's redeemer.

"Trust these things? You're kidding right?" A dismissive flick of wrist with a 'tch' sound that all comes to a pause when Reese begins losing what tried to tag along in an exit race from their tether to -between-.

"I have yet to hear any complaints from me playing with them when done." Truth. They're either dead or in a coma-like sleep. Those rare few she keeps for enjoyment… Huh. The thought makes brows furrow, even as she looks from Reese to Daimon and then in a flash she is before Reese in a heated embrace while the souls retch from her orifices.

The embrace began when Reese rocked back upon her heels and bowed, her hair caught in one hand while her other catches her at the nape of her neck, keeping her aimed upright, face towards the heavens all the while Satana kneels before the girl.

"Hitch hikers. I'll take it as part of my payment." Pulling Reese in her lips press against the willo-the-soul falling from an eye. Soothing that tear away with a slow inhale and upon touch each one of those strands reforms into something she can palate - leaving Reese, Satana and Daimon surrounded in the flutter of moths although what was in Reese finds itself ripped out.

Imagine if you will, a man and his family visiting a brand new buffet for the first time. The food was delicious and bountiful, and plate after plate was piled upon and eaten, scraped clean until there was nothing but little bits they couldn't stomach left. This? It was a favor, it seems, the souls forced into Reese and right back out into the world so Satana could have her cake and eat it too.

And if Daimon partook? Even better! The family that eats together? Stays together.

But there was no prediction that this would happen, no indication that their meeting in this very spot was orchestrated, all a subject of happenstance when it came to the world and the summoning of their particular lineage. But here they were, at odds yet their goal was common, to stop.. to feast.. to indulge.

Cept for Reese though!

But the bending of her back was nearly breaking, halted by the grasp of Satana; the one who sees only darkness soothed just by that little touch. Odd one that, light in dark places..

As the last of the souls were ripped from her body and transformed, Reese allowed her a moment to collapse sideways into Satana's grasp, even if the woman wasn't built for comfort and Reese hardly ever needing it, something such as that was as traumatizing and giving enough for Reese herself to seek that out.

Holy shit indeed.

Daimon Hellstrom doesn't devour souls the way his sister does, having inherited different aspects of their father's accursed nature. There's no temptation for him in the glut of darkness that spills from Reese, but he does wade through it nonetheless, finding his way alongside to support the woman when she finally collapses, drawing her from Satana's grasp, forcefully if necessary.

"You're welcome to them, sister. Better in than out, in this particular case," he says. She can mock and chide if she likes, it's not as if he isn't a bit used to it and he's learned to take such criticisms with a grain of salt. One must consider the source, after all.

Satana looks at Daimon, relinquishing Reese easy enough, especialy when the little being /clings/ to her in such a manner, leaving her at a loss on what exactly to do with her. It was better that way then handing her back by the scruff like an admonished kitten.

"Don't mind if I do." One by one those moths flutter towards her fingertips as if they are a flame, and one by one her lips wrap around them, suckling digits clean of the damned, that angry slash across her throat finally sealed, although that carving into her skin resting just below bosom has remained untouched by the healing properies fo a rather lavish 'dinner'.

"Enjoy it brother, while it lasts." Those words left to linger she turns and disappears into the darkness that encompasses the grounds, leaving the candle-light sigil as well as the slaughtered farm beast for the 'proper' authorities. The rest, is ash.

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