Halcyon Days

“The path to paradise begins in hell.”
― Dante Alighieri    

      Death is a funny concept. Many people believe Death to be the end of the line, the final fate. Even the love of his life had once said “Death and Darkness are the only absolute truth” Or it was something to that effect. If there was one thing that was certain, Death certainly had a way of messing with one’s memories. Unfortunately, despite his vast knowledge and experience… his love was wrong. On this night, Death was defiled. A spark of emerald green energy sparked in the air, and after a seconds pause, another spark, and then before much time had past, there was a cluster of sparks. The energy flowed in the area, the air itself becoming thick like maple syrup and nearly impossible to breathe as the energy filled the atmosphere. The energy formed a circle upon the ground, runic markings all around, while sparks and ethereal electricity jumped form the pool. Soon, a thick bolt seemed to emerge, and form it, the energy shot off in every direction. The bolt quivered and shook, twisted and contorted. The formation looked like an odd ball on a stick, until the ball flattened into a more diamond shape, and slid apart into five clawed looking fingers. The hand reached into the air, as if reaching for the heavens and then it slammed into the ground. Like the wrath of heaven itself, the ground all around cracked with the divine energy , the cracks rushed out, like a spider’s web the entire ground turning into a crater as the arm seemed to pull itself form the powerful pool of energy.

       Next to come was a shoulder, and following that the top of a head. The creature appeared a featureless humanoid made of this energy, and while every movement was a graceful and elegant display of light and energy… it proved to be equally as wrathful and deadly. The creature seemed to fight, an endless struggle against something that confound it, a battle that would seem hopeless to all others. But he was not all others. He pulled himself form the ooze, a powerful Roar with the reverb of the millions of Souls of the Ethereal afterlife. It drug itself out onto it’s knees as it crawled from the well of power. Once his entire body was free of the power, the circle dimmed, and the energy liquid dried up, leaving only this creature. The Energy dissipated off of him, reveling tanned skin, a toned physique and shaggy black hair that seemed to shine in the moonlight. The man was panting, trying to catch his breath as he finally felt his skin against the chilled air, as he felt his sweat beading on him. He felt the ground beneath him, and he felt his power coursing through him.

       He began to laugh, almost disbelieving at the fact that his lungs could draw air and that he could eat again…though he needed to do none of those things. He dug his hand into the ground, energy flowing form his hands and leaking into the ground below. The power he was born to have, his birthright was finally given to him. A baptism by fire, a Eulogy in Empathy, and now…a resurrection. The power he was born to rule…was finally under his command. The souls of the fallen were his power-source, and his resolve was his motivation and the means of control. He opened his eyes, and emerald green eyes began to glow. Ouroboros lives again.

       Finally standing to his feet, Ouroboros looked to the world around him. He was in Chicago…he remembered it well enough…but the Hales. If he remembered where they were he might just have paid them a visit. Though showing up naked might not have been the best move ever… not like actually popping in for a visit would be wise. A police car appeared behind him, sirens going and red and blue lights flashing, they stopped only for one man to get out of the car and aim a gun at him.

        ”Hands up!” The man ordered. Ouroboros just chuckled and held out a hand. Clenching his fist, the man froze as a dome of energy formed over him. He began to shoot, the bullets disintegrating upon contact with the energy. He closed his fist, and then, the dome constricted, fitting to the officer’s body perfectly. Simply puling his fingers a little more, and his knuckles cracked, and instantly the energy rotated at high velocities. The result was as if the man were put into a blender, he was turned completely into a liquid, bones and all…and then left to be a splat on the ground. Ouroboros turned and began to walk away, cracking his neck he chuckled as he began to walk towards the city.

       ”The bastards back…” He said a smirk on his face, and eyes glowing.

. Ouroboros made his way through the cover of darkness that shrouded the region. He kept moving with purpose, not bothering to stop and entertain any ideas before he found himself in the possession of some clothing that he could have a baseline for his new “suit”. He found himself making a turn on the bad part of town. Make no mistake, he intended to make the turn, and he knew exactly where he was at. He just figured that it’d be easier on his newly reborn psyche if he simply killed and stole the clothing of a mugger rather than an innocent. Ouroboros stood in the alleyway, looking ahead through the tips of his ragged black hair, still panting from his resurrection. Defiling death certainly takes its toll on a person it seems. The wet grimy dirt beneath his feet, the cold unforgiving concrete He squatted down, placed his index finger and slid it down. The dirt shifted as his finger parted it like the red sea.

Sirens rang out like banshee’s on the blackest of winter’s nights, and to this Ouroboros could only smirk. The sirens wail out like little children, crying out for attention, to alarm the others and to intimidate the enemies of their pathetic and premature attempt at a society. Ouro opened his mouth a little and began to nibble at his lower lip as he sighed. Their world would burn. But that was a story for another time…but not this time. Seeing no one coming down the alley, The Ethereal king began to wonder if he had mis-remembered the place he stood. With a little pout the young man began to walk away from the alley, in hopes of finding new prey. The clouds above him rumbled and roared, causing him to turn his glowing eyes up and his shaggy hair back. Rain would be here soon.

Ouroboros felt the temperature drop slightly, his eyes closed as he took a deep breath in, the cold brisk air filling his lungs. Rain was his favorite weather, though he wasn’t sure which half of him he had to thank for that. The Ouroboros half, or Zell Atterrius Half. Ouro smiled as he thought of how the rain would come and wash away the stains upon the earth, cleanse the impurities and the things that dirtied or soiled. His eyes opened as he began walking through the alleyways, listening, focusing. Thanks to his superhuman senses, he was able to rather easily hear the distant talking, which amused him. Thunder rolled above head, which caused Ouroboros to stop for a moment, looking up to the sky. His eyes narrowed as he looked sternly to the heavens. It was winter…rain was not the most expected thing… which meant a special someone knew of the Ethereal King’s return…someone was watching him. Closing his eyes he resumed his slow tread towards the noise he had heard.

Anda a la puta que te pario

Spanish…how…exquisite. The King thought to himself as he stumbled out onto the street. He was in eyesight of the entire conflict between the strange Hispanic men. Ouroboros just walked forward, not very fast but still enough to keep progress going. It was probably strange to see a random naked twenty year old walking up, but the second he came within twenty feet, he stopped. ”Otro cuerpo a la cuneta” He said with a little laugh at the man who had been kicked to the ground. Ouroboros had found a few victims…and a rather interesting character who was apparently more skilled than the average human. Someone worth taking some time to know perhaps? Time would tell, though at the moment Ouroboros was more concentrated on getting himself a new outfit.