Reborn MagnusWarning: Marque is a Serial Killer, both of his personalities are, in fact, serial killers. RP's with Marque will most likely contain graphic material. If you are not comfortable with this, please do not request an RP with Marque.
.:Story:.
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"Don’t break us, don’t leave us again."
Long ago, a man locked away came to life, blossoming into something both beautiful and terrible. He filled a once beautiful and kind mind with impure thoughts, craving the sight of red spilled, of shouts and screams. This seed of chaos planted long ago, now blossom to the two of the most twisted killers of all time.
Marque was a kind boy when he was growing up, looking forward to a future filled with happiness, and freedom from the home he’d grown up in. Sure, it was hard growing up in the house he was born into, but he had hope, brimming from his smile to his actions, it had to get better, he was convinced of this. Because the world was beautiful, and hope was the only thing he had left.
The first time he had been beaten he thought he’d deserved it, breaking a vase that his mother had gotten from his father for their first anniversary. There had been a lot of screaming, so much shouting. When the loud smack had filled the air, the house had been dead silent for long moments. But then the promises had begun, it wouldn’t happen again, they promised, they promised.
The second time it was about the same, a smaller offense but one he knew deserved it. In a perverse twist, he began to feel that he deserved every second of pain when it began to get more frequent. Smacks, hits, and kicks delivered daily, all for offenses justified in both his own mind, as well as his parent’s, as well.
As he got older, the dark thoughts began to get more and more frequent. Sometimes he’d simply sit and let the scenarios flash in his eyes, only to reject them with less and less conviction. One day, he thought, they would keep the promise, the pain would stop, and the world would be right again.
It got worse, especially when his younger brother was born, a troubled child with their father’s temper. The ‘good’ child, the ‘loved’ child, and suddenly he was the ‘troubled’ child, because he found himself at fault so often, then. He started to slowly withdraw from the family, his face blank, hardly caring about anything around him.
When he turned 17, on a rainy, fall morning much like any other, his parents woke up ‘Carver.’
He’d been beaten to the point that a couple of his bones had broken, a simple mistake resulting with the worst pain that Marque had experienced. He was oblivious to the fact they had to take him into the hospital, already fading into darkness long before.
Waking up was disorienting, thoughts flooding together when he woke up. He knew the people surrounding him, knew that the smiles and well wishes would only result in more pain, and more of a reason to hope for a better life. But, on that morning, the one he’d awoken, he decided he’d finally make a change, a change for the better.
When they slept, and after his body was healed, he snuck out of the bedroom and downstairs, he’d picked the knife out when he’d gotten home, and while Marque struggled in the back of his mind, Carver knew it wouldn’t stop. He was going to make it stop, and he’d make it better.
They didn’t wake up as they cut his parent’s throats, and woke up his younger brother, telling him that there was a ‘bad man’ in the house, they needed to run. It was easy enough, telling him that someone was in the house, and while he held such resentment for this child, he wasn’t going to do the same to him, as he did their parents.
His brother had gone outside, and Carver went back inside, grabbed a can of gas from the garage, and lit the house on fire. Nothing in his life had been as beautiful as the flames burning away the darkest place in his life. It was so pretty, he thought, to erase those who had brought darkness into his life, and for the first time in years, he felt hope.
Sadly, though, the police had hunted for the one who had killed his parents. Marque awoke screaming one night, thinking what had happened was a dream. His horror only grew when he realized this person in the back of his mind had committed the crime. No, no, it couldn’t be true. Someone taking over his body, burning the house… Killing them in the middle of the night, no, he couldn’t have done it.
But he had.
He left his younger brother behind, running as far away from the town he grew up in, as he could. As he grew older, he grew more comfortable with this being in the back of his mind, grew more comfortable with those wicked thoughts stained with Carver’s will. Fire was beautiful, blood was sacred, and he began to grow the need to bring pain, just as Carver had.
Murders started following where ever the duo went, fires and corpses found in the town he lived in, until he moved on. As he grew older, he grew more careful, growing more and more like the being in the back of his mind. They were brothers, Carver and Marque, growing more and more alike, setting examples of pain and cruelty to the other.
Love began to be a strange concept, hardly able to understand kindness or compassion. They found compassion in their killings, feeling that they set the victims free from such a stark and depressing world. Murder after murder followed, and the kind and hopeful boy he once was developed into two savage killers trapped in the same mind.
Several years into running, they encountered a man named Sacrilege, charming but with a dangerous mind to compete with their own. Fascination developing into romantic feelings they had never encountered before. And for once, they knew they could change, that someone could accept and truly love the two.
They became happy, they learned how to love, even though he was still violent, craving pain and fire. They could love, and they did love, and for a time, that was all that mattered.
A day like any other, Marque and Carver at home, ‘Lege had gone out. They waited, calm and happy, in the home he’d live with the other in for some time. As it grew later, the pair became uneasy, worried, and felt fear. Where did he go? When will he be home?
‘Lege hadn’t been seen for a few years after that day.
Rage turned to depression, and while he lived he continued his killing, moving from the home he’d gotten to a smaller house. Relationship after relationship crashing down into failure leading them to become bitter and angry, pressing hard into hatred. They welcomed this, they needed this, and with the rage came the savagery of the killing, from delicate to brutal.
A bakery had opened in the heart out of town, and soon became popular due to the ‘Deathday cakes’ created by the owner. Cakes featuring deaths in the city, faces smiling, echoes from a happier time. Marque and Carver grew to enjoy the buzz of the bakery, often taking off for weekends, and death followed them always, unnoticed.
“Bring me down, drag me down, and I’ll bury you in the ground.”
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:Appearance:
A gallery of Marque art.
Favorites:
Person: 'Lege.
Lover: 'Lege.
Bad habit: Smoking Cigarettes.
Sport: Baseball.
Drink: Rum and coke.
Hobby: Baking cakes and cookies.
Music Genre: He is fond of techno, pop, and classical music.
Piercing: His lower lip piercing.
Investment: His house, or the bakery he works at.
Baking apron: The one his daughter gave him.
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Themesong: Actions & Motives - 10 Years
Wait the fact you did it.
Don't admit it.
Won't make you innocent.
Fate finds you wicked.
Turns you victim for everything you have done.
So justify the reason to kill.
Reason to kill.
I bet you will.
Fooling no one but yourself.
But yourself.
I wish you well.
Oh what tangled webs we weave.
When we practice to deceive.
I know you well.
I know you well.
Actions and motives.
Bear the cross, wear the crown, it's just some evil you can't bleed out.
Hell has to notice.
Your actions and motives.
Bear the cross, wear the crown, it's just some evil you can't bleed out.
I just don't get it.
How you managed to justify who dies.
Like judge and jury.
Your the very one who crucifies.
Don't get your hands dirty to kill.
Use someone else.
Know all your lies are measured in hell.
I wish you well.
Oh what tangled webs we weave.
When we practice to deceive.
I know you well.
I know you well.
Actions and motives.
Bear the cross, wear the crown, it's just some evil you can't bleed out.
Hell has to notice.
Your actions and motives.
Bear the cross, wear the crown, it's just some evil you can't bleed out.
Can't bleed out!
Actions and motives.
Bear the cross, wear the crown, it's just some evil you can't bleed out.
Hell has to notice.
Your actions and motives.
Bear the cross
Hell has to notice,
wear the crown,
it's just some evil you can't bleed out.
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The fire burns, the fire dies.
All within a tangle of futile lies.
Struggle to breath, struggle for life,
We will take away your right.
To breath, to live,
you have no reason to give,
me a futile plea.
It will give me glee,
to watch the fire leave your eyes.
We need this, as much as lies.
Oh years pass, and so do our tests,
of who deserves to take in breath.
Take a moment, look around,
are you in hell, or above ground?
We can't tell the difference, never have.
And so we'll let you hear our wicked laugh.
The last thing you'll ever hear.
Never again will you see those faces dear.
So slip into heaven, we'll be waiting for you.
Unless hell takes us, it could be true.
That heaven and hell exist,
but we shall resist.
Oh yes, we shall resist,
for the rest of our damned lives.
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Credits:
Profile by Jodie
Profile art by Azaryth
Overlay by User not found: staria
Poem by me, Cigarette
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