Information

Marc
Legacy Name: Marc

The Nightmare Bhakoru
Owner: metal

Age: 14 years, 8 months, 1 week

Born: August 24th, 2009

Adopted: 12 years, 6 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: October 15th, 2011

Statistics

• Level: 313
   
• Strength: 782
   
• Defense: 781
   
• Speed: 781
   
• Health: 780
   
• HP: 10/780
   
• Intelligence: 0
   
• Books Read: 0
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

welcome to demonland

act i

"What have you done..." She exclaimed as Sammael dragged the bloodied corpse behind him like a dog would a bone. The realisation dawned upon her, agony touching her strong features. She looked from Sammael to her husband, tears forming in her eyes as she forced herself to look at the crippled body at her eldest son's feet. Blood-matted red locks covered his face but she knew that strong jaw-line, even in its now shattered condition. Before the words could form Marc entered the hall, covered in just as many cuts as Sammael, though, not as many as their brother.

"Mine own blood... Traitors to the race, murdering their own brother." She was on her feet, eyes and voice filled with a ferocity they hadn't had a moment ago. "You bring me the corpse of a dead son and yet you do not shed a tear. What creatures have you become?"

She turned on her heel next to Sammael, unafraid of how he towered over her. Marc watched her, stepping as close as he dared to the body, weary of his elder brother and what he had just begrudgingly agreed to. He wanted to get down on his knees and beg Kasimir's body for the forgiveness he would forever be denied, but to do so... He did not know what would happen. He had promised no-one that he would not grieve his brother. It was his right, yet what was stopping him?

Their Mother seemed pained in her actions. She had her compassionate moments and Marc expected this to be one of them, waiting for her to cradle Kasimir's broken body in her lap while whispering sweet innocents into his bloodied skull, but she did not. The weeping woman of his memories was not here. Not today. Instead she stood over him and allowed her robes to soak in the puddle of his blood.

Suddenly she looked at Marc with those fiery eyes that he knew he must embrace. "You let this happen. He was your responsibility." Sammael was deadly silent next to her. "Marca, you did nothing."

"You think so little of me to believe I would stand by and watch my brothers kill each other?" He spat in disbelief, eyes flicking between his Mother and the back of Sammael's head. "So little you think this is my fault?"

"Yes." She hissed between pointed teeth. "Or I would have two bodies beneath me, not one."

"You're wrong." Marc felt like he was burning up from the inside. He wanted the Hellfire that filled him to spill from his mouth with every word. To devour his very being along with this room, and the whole godforsaken place that was this Hell. He wanted Her to burn. "To say I should watch one brother die before me only to avenge him with the death of my other. How could I, at my very own hand?"

She was crouching over Kasimir's body now, stroking his hair with the lightest of touches. Marc's shriveled heart ached to go to her, despite himself, but he could not. "You lack what is required of a son. To be my son."

He held himself back as best he could but allowed his rage to pierce his words. "I do not have the strength in me to suffer one heartbreak straight after another, of that you are correct. But that is not a flaw, Mother."

"Both of you get out of my sight. Leave me to grieve what is left of my only son."

act ii

Marc half hobbled, half walked down the street, searching the area for signs; anything that would tell him where the fuck he was. Knowing Sammael it was another hell-hole, but at least Hell was his hell-hole. This town looked like the backside of his Hellhound. Well, the hound rather than the human side that is. He wondered what his brother would do with dear Shalo whom he'd been forced to leave behind. Maybe the hound would play nice with the others until Marc returned home. That was the best case scenario, the rest he chose not to dwell on.

His leg throbbed again and he was forced to stop for a moment, half hunched over as he rubbed the bloody mess that was his thigh.

"Dude, what the fuck. Look." Marc's mouth twitched.
"What?"
"He's fucking covered in blood..."

He stood up straight and looked directly at the group of teens huddled next to a skip. All four were staring at him in disbelief.

"Having... A bad day, man?" One was bold enough to ask, or was just plain curious. Marc didn't blame him. He looked a right state.

"Something like that." He shoved the pains and aches of his body to the back of his mind for the moment, and approached the group. The one furthest away was huffing and puffing on a cigarette. Marc looking him up and down before fixating on his mouth. "Could I..?"

The puffy teen obliged him and held out the pack. Marc wasn't shy and grabbed four without hesitation, one already between his lips before the pack was withdrawn from sight. He felt around in his pockets as if for a lighter. A different teen took the hint and lit him up. Marc nodded a thanks, noting the nervous yet cute face of his helper. He couldn't resist shooting a sly grin his way which returned a heavy blush.

"So uh, Guy. The fuck happened to you?" The boy to his left was eager to end the eye contact between the two.

Marc wasn't really sure what to say. What could he say without sounding crazy? He was covered in blood, dirt and fuck knows what else, was half naked and he was sure his leg was broken. Could the truth really make it any worse?

"I got mauled by a dog." That got a couple of chuckles along with a gasp.

"Looks like it was a pretty big dog."

"Massive."

"Yeah, alright man. No need to brag."

That made Marc laugh. He was using his first cigarette to light a second, chuckling a little between coughs and smokey exhalations. "Not bragging, but I am alive so that's something." Marc flicked the butt away into the street. "Is there a place to drink around here, kids?"

"There's a pub on the corner. Next street over, old man," the tallest had obviously had enough of his company, putting an arm around the cute one.

Marc smiled and left them to it, nodding again at the one who'd offered him the smokes. He walked along the middle of the street, kicking snow out of his way so he could follow the dotted line separating the two lanes. Glancing around, a few curious eyes were watching him. They were unsure and obviously apprehensive about a stranger. All adults he noticed. The teens had seemed friendly enough, but that could only be expected. They were more like him; less concerned with appearances, at ease with individuality, minds closer to more basic human instincts. Marc had forgotten how truly different humans were to demons.

He continued to the next street over, resigned to the fact that he should avoid all eye contact with people, lest they notice the peculiar shade of red. The eyes on his back gradually faded away; everyone seemingly losing interest in the mysterious bloodied stranger, until he found the pub. More of a bar. Dank, dark and foul seemed appropriate. He had no idea what time it was but light outside meant day and yet there were at least six people here, drinking, talking, whatever else humans did in bars. There was plenty of space up front so he took a stool, looking forward to staring at the bottles and other shit hanging on the walls for however long he could remain drunk. Hopefully for at least a year.

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