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1 [GV] THE BOOK OF on Fri Jan 12, 2018 5:16 pm





It was a meeting that took place on an illustrious mansion situated in a villa overlooking the adjacent districts, home to faux nobles & various aristocratic citizens. This was a particularly special night as the ghouls gathered around to dance under the luminous silver moon. Wary of it all, the streets lay bare of life leaving the spawn of hell to relish in delight with harsh breezes sweeping away those foolish to venture into the dark. The bizarre calm of such a night was torn asunder by a ceremonious stride. Fiddling through the darkness was a figure, composed like an immortalized statuesque column, a white mane exploding & swinging elegantly on his back. He let out a robust sigh after weaving into another backstreet dead end. Back at the mansion; in a wastefully spacious room, the conversation was picking its pace. Within a certain room were eight. Of which two servants, upcoming agents & two 'high born' that dictated the subject matter: the recent indignation of the 'fleas'. 

The discussions winds down into a chatter on the events centered of the month prior. Baltigo had quaked as its enforcers faced off against a charismatic yet insufferable rogue. In a display that pitted skill & experience against vigor & determination, it was the rogue who grabbed the reigns of victory earning the admiration of an entire populace. Never in a million years would have anyone thought that his arsenal was not only so large but awe strikingly vicious. Yet the dismantled infrastructure of the Lord's Castle bore testament to his fury. To make it worse, he had declared war not on the perpetrators but the world itself. The talk veered into political power struggles and the ensuing chaos. No, rather the chaos, the talk focused on the crusade of a relatively new faction. The rag tag bunch dubbed Revolutionaries which sliced, diced, shook and baked those who dared stand on their mission. In the end the Sol'zel incident was a microcosm of the dawning new age! 

However, it was the mention of the aforementioned rogues name that one of the noble's expression changed. Wrinkled into a rage, disgust and bitterness, a strong foul odor anger permeated from him. One of the aides could not help from chuckling at his ugly crumpled expression, which did nothing but infuriate him further. "You find something funny peasant?" his voice rattled in an instance. The orange haired girl quietly shook in disagreement before lowering her head. Impressed at her brashness his companion begun to stare at her bosom. Its plump suppleness fighting a losing battle against her outfit. "I don't think I have had you before." Suddenly, the atmosphere around the room changes as he bore his fangs. The ravenous piercing look from eyes that unashamedly stripped the maid in every sense literally. Business would have to wait, it was now time for the indulgence of canal pleasure.

"Come here" he gestured at the impudent maid. Nightly orgies for sadistic aristocrats & lap dog guests had become a routine in this villa. The orange girl's acquaintances had all birthed children through the perversity that was about to transpire. In her two days as a slave she'd been exposed to all manner of degradation save defilement of her sexual purity. Afterall she'd expected to sail on her deceptively young looks. Alas this wasn't to be and  the light of hope in her was dying out. This would be her final humiliation. Hardly, had she taken a step forward when the lights in the room go out as a blast of steaming heat engulfs the surrounding walls heating them to a charred crisp. Dazed and confused the nobles cower like the vermin whilst their agents, closest to the walls get their limbs sprayed throughout the room. The ceremonious stomping stride of a foot's heel cuts short the confusion. Deep from the razing flames the cheeky smile of the prodigious figure emerges. On this night Ymir's son had come to enact revenge. 

The impact of the previous attack had produced a shock wave that rocked the region. A seismic tremor had followed soon after sending the Lord's Castle southern district  back to the bronze age. Fear gripped the denizens and instantaneously the masses poured into the streets running about in helter skelter. The midnight marauders invocation was well and truly underway. Sol'zel swayed his head from side to side and breathed deep into his lungs. His nostrils twitched slightly as the air rubbed past them, on route to his lungs. This was not due its chilly coldness but rather its stench. In the staleness of it all, was the saturated fragrant aroma of Izanami. The demon queen with powers of creation and destruction had graced the island with her presence and he could sense it. In all his years nothing could compare to, let alone best the smell that she oozed. 

A tingling spark of joy escaped his brain and ran down his spine before dispersing throughout his body and electrifying him with impassioned yearning. His eyes dilated in rhythm to his palpitating heart as he wished this moment would last longer and allow him to sink his teeth further into the cursed fruit of Lust. However, he had important matters to attend to. There were people to see and bodies to collect. The dancing flames around the burning room illuminated the face of his and his father's enemies. "Gentlemen, I trust you know why I am here" His voice calm and controlled a far cry from the tense mood present. "Cease this madness Romulus!" the man barked. "Remember this? You gave it to me" the young man hissed as he stretched out his right hand prompting it to spark at his whim. "Romu.." "Wrong. My name is Sol'zel." he declared before charging forward and driving his fist into the men's chests. 

Unable to contain his rage, the indomitable Nimrod exploded and the motionless bodies that lay before him the definitive proof of his might. A loud screech from a foot sliding as it rubbed across the floor, broke Sol's heavy breathing and let him free from the oscillating mental asylum of thought. At the same time, a pack of wolves with crimson furs that were as light as water, gnarled before they began their descent. With gravity on their side, it had been only a matter of time before they quickly gathered momentum and soon descended on the wooden floors grew below. These wolves were the were all that was left of the Ashe and Barbossa families' head honchos. After cracking open their torsos, blood had been projected mostly to the ground and around Muldjewangk forearms, only to get trapped in his jewelry and soiling them dull. The ear deafening scream of their maids filled the room but it was no use. Under the madness of this night it was nothing more than a blimp drowned by the screams of the chaos that engulfed the town.

Last edited by BZA on Sun Jan 14, 2018 9:07 pm; edited 3 times in total

2 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 8:29 pm



A loud screech reverberates in the dead of night as an object bursts out from eastern wing of the Nikola Estate. Once comprised of chalk white byzantine columns adorned in silver seals, its extravagance had been reduced to shattered shrapnel and crushed rock. Under the might of the explosive power at hand, the ground rumbles to its foundations, as the reverberation spread to the farthest ends of Baltigo. At its epicenter was an animated figure embroiled in a battle against gravity of which the nature of its meteoric descent sealed the outcome. Landing back first, the crunching snap of bone and concrete emanates in the compound as it hits the solitary water fountain. Gaia's buttons had been pushed and she responded in kind. The gritting gnarl of stone was heard prior to the ground suddenly cracking into a tangled web of fissures that imploded with a bang. 

Hands frozen into place as was its entire body, the figure could but lie sprawled on its back. Its vision blurred but conscious no small part to the pain that billowed with enough strength to cause him to perspire in anxiety. One that manifested as the crippling fear that wrapped its hands on his throat leading him to breath irregularly. The crippling nature of the previous attack was enough to drill into flesh and render his foot or rather him incapacitated. His tendons had been badly sliced into and it would require some time for him to use that leg with the same ferocity. From whence the figure came, overlooking the plaza below was an athletic bodied man, clad in a black suit and matching of red tie and shoes. His red locks dancing in the light breeze, did little to hide his aged look. Yet, this hardly mattered exemplified by the menacing expression of his crumpled visage. More so the piercing gaze from those amber pupils that voraciously devoured his enemy and made it known his murderous intentions.

Seething with rage he clicked his knuckles before running his hands through his hair whilst clenching and planting his feet rigidly onto the ground. Once safely lodged onto the earth, he tensed himself before letting lose. This action shot him forward to his intended target; the motionless enemy. Contrary to his hulking proportions he was deceptively fast and in a flash, he vanished from the confines of the shambolic room only to reappear meters from his enemy. In that instance, the motionless figure had sprung to action and assumed a curled posture, his spheroid body advancing in speed as he grovelled through the dirt. No sooner does it come to a stop that does the man execute his prior action. A ferocious foot stomp fortified in electromagnetic energy that discharges sparks as it darts through space before banging onto the earth. In that instance, a shock wave of shimmering red blows past everything in a twenty-meter radius as the latent power within eviscerated the region with reckless abandon. 

However, the attack was far from done. Once the electromagnetic package of death was delivered, its courier sprang into action igniting himself into a tower of red hue against the deafening whirl of sparkling thunder. From here he would rush forward and deliver a barrage of hack styled attacks with the intention of maiming his enemy. Enhanced from supernatural proportions into borderline god-hood his speed had more than tripled. Thus, for his first attack he zoomed to his opponent and pivoting his leg before delivering a shin kick to its back with enough power to send him the enemy flying fifteen meters. Hardly does he complete ten than does he proceed to manifest beneath him to deliver an anti-manner kick course that converts all his momentum into a sharp rise. Finally, with his enemy mid-air he dashed ahead of him and charges his hand beet red and delivers a punch to his sternum. 

The enemy's incompetence coupled by his pathetic physical state plays a hand at him falling prey to the gruesome combination. Upon the completion of the last move he is hurled into the ground; not crashing but carving down the last of the eastern wing. This wasn't a fight, calling it torture would be apt. Whatever the man had used forcefully tore through his enemy's tissue, indented his skull before exploding with viscous rage and sending his mind back to the ice age. All thoughts escaped Sol's and his body ached back into the ground. The injuries tally thus far included, one major organ damage, a shattered foot, two damaged quadriceps, two eviscerated palms, nine damaged bones including his femur, skull, tibia. The pain running through his body was so great that his mind snapped. "Ahahaa" echoed the laugh of defiance as both his arrogance and pride colluded to maintain face. Following this his master Yomi dropped to the ground & begun making his way to him. Crying out frustration than pain a single tear mixed in with the stream of crimson rivers flowing from his eyes. He paused for a moment his consciousness quickly fading into time.

3 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 8:38 pm



Dawn. Ignited by the gripping cries of anguish and the laments of a distressed populace. Drumming up the numbing madness of their cries, was the thunderous echo of a cavalry of men stomping the ground. Off in the distance, a diminutive cloud of dust doubled in size as it washed over and percolated into the town. Riding against this and the back drop of Apollo's glaring might, a group of majestic black stallions announced their arrival. Spearheading their campaign was a robust man who issued two orders before his men charged on. One such platoon poured into impregnated streets, its leader brandishing a thick slab of metal passing for a sword. In one motion, he swung to the masses, his breath tethering from grunting to an impassioned yell. Two tonnes of raw cutting power escapes him and unfurled a wave. The crescent gift of death howled as it soared in the immediate vicinity prying apart stone, wood and flesh en route to its eradication of twenty. 

In a coordinated effort, his subordinates followed suit and mailed a buffet of arrows, in assortment that was spiced in poison, explosive powder and drilled point heads. Thus, begun the decimation of this Fishman outpost. Ymir's skyline billowed thick columns of black smeared in radiant amber. On the streets, the revolting blend of sulfur and carbon chocked in as much as it blinded. Flames danced in their ceremonious consumption living and non-living. Every so often an explosion added to the orchestra of oblivion. The once elaborate water ways and their saline familiarity had been diluted thick red with a putrid ironic ad mixture. Across the land the howls of desperation matched the cleaving squish and snaps of metal against body. Hours of depravity ensued as hounds of hell descended and rabidly devoured their neighbors.

Noon. The apocalyptic ambiance had reached fever pitch. Surrounded by nothing but corpses some solders had suddenly felt the urge to satiate their libidos. A woman by the name Rossana was to suffer such a fate. Moments before her husband had had his brains splattered onto the streets for the vultures compliments of a young marine. Now she was sprawled on the ground helpless under the watchful gaze of countless predators. One of her assailants hobbled his his way to her, reaching out to her streamlined jaw line. For a moment he gazed in wonder before abrupt-ly forcing his tongue into her mouth. Seconds turned into minutes as the two engaged in a furious kissing display. Suddenly, the man pulled away only to furiously punch her squarely on her face. Wasting no time he signaled to his men to have their spoil.

Dusk. The monotonous mash of grit, sand and rigid granite in a soft yet cacophonous rhythm, fills the air as horses prodded forward blissfully, a far cry of their masters' urgency. Behind their robust frames were simplistic wooden carriages encased with inexpensive canvases. Lying within this basic structure was the haggard and blood soaked bodies of several children. These children in question were none other than the young-lings whose misfortunes would take them far and wide. Be it the 'Black Night', the Shameful Eight incident and most recently the invasion & subsequent pulverization of Lord's Castle. Yet, the seeds of their future were planted on this very day. A seven year old's mind flashed to the memory of his mother tortured and defiled. The screams of mercy and the futility of weakness. A hot burning sensation washed over his body and settled in his throat before materializing as tears. Sol-Zel had been initiated into the world of men.

4 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 8:42 pm



It was a bizarre room. From the miss maintained honey brown sea stone walls that had faded into matte grey. Large tubular plumbing of copper that adorned the walls and croaked ever so often to release a bout of steam. The marble floors fashioned into hexagonal patterns and fortified with metallic ridges that stretched the entirety of an average ship. To the ever-constant churn of piping hot water that billowed under the floors in a rumble that sounded like the murmured cries of a demonic horde. However, its most distinguishing feature was its glass cylinders that towered from the ceiling to floor. Thick, titanic, transparent, eight of them were spread evenly across the room creating an octagon of sorts. Suspend within always were naked bodies of prepubescent children, floating blissfully in a sea of blue. At the centre of the room was an operation station. A shade darker than night, it was attached to various contraptions with one the large make shift chain saw looking device the most intimidating. 

Within the walls of the domicile were two geniuses of their craft but it was the older of the two whose brilliance shone best. Needle on one hand and string on the other he zoomed and dashed across the open space while reciting a chant. Sol-Zel readied himself, taking one prolonged inhale and contracting his muscle and there after exhaling and relaxing. The man over seeing him paid no heed and proceeded to strap him onto the operational table. The cold familiarity of the grating snap of its buckle sending a chill down his spine. No sooner was it done that did the growl of a grating chain erupt and startle him into a fright. Each oscillation of sound unleashing his repressed memories to his first time on the Rodeo. The silhouetted procession of wooden wagons pulled through the thick woollen mist culminating their seven-day journey. The Ymir Ransacking had come to a complete end. The victors and their weathered spoils had made it to a secluded section of Baltigo.

A mountainous region with a housing structure sealed off by two large immaculate golden doors, carved out with imposing image of a roaring lion. Thus, this beast swallowed whole the lost generation of Fishman Island. Sol-Zel recalled the unceremonious ushering he and a multitude of boys received as they were dumped in a dim lit room. Stripped to nothing but loin cloths the nightmare had only begun. One of the gracious adults had made it a point to blast it out from the transponder snails that out of the two hundred or so children present half were not needed. Silence, as pin drops befell the space as it abetted the fear of encroaching death. The hairs at the back of the emaciated Sol shot out in attention. Through the window left aghast came in the hiss of an slithering wind cast ashore by the cunning winds of a winter solstice. Trapped in an expressionless stupor, he set his sights to the the ease at which his compatriots had acquiesced to the thorns that had dared prickle their impenetrable solidarity. Those closest to him wasted no time sinking their fist into each other and as the seconds expired the crunching splatter of bone filled the space. 

Muldjewangk's first kill was a boy his age. The circumstance of how their confrontation started was lost to him. However, the excruciating pain in conjunction with the light crunch of bone at the snapping his index and pinkie fingers was fresh. Two days and three nights later the disheveled battered survivors were tagged branded and led into another room. The Coppenham Chamber. This very room. Dressed in white robs the adults had carefully sorted them out by height and age. Following this they were fed a contortion of drugs, each bitter and rancid in smell than the last. In the aftermath of the pill popping, the drowsy Sol-Zel was set upon by two ladies from the facilities trench coat mafia. Staggering about in protest his fragile body buckled and subsequently sank into unconsciousness. During his comatose state, he had been washed and tied as if he were some livestock and as it were knew not what depravity his enemies had enacted on him. 

Upon coming to he was met with the blinding lights of a fluorescent tube. A pair of forked shaped drills pronged into his body and bored their way through tissue. Screams of deranged agony echoed across the chamber as one last needle stabbed into him. A distinctively sharp shrill, followed suit and one of the medical tube was pumped into a stream of white. Its vitalized silver shimmer drifted abetted by the duality of its viscosity and gravity. Its path, long carved by the tiny droplets which preceded it. Upon contact with its target body there it renewed the wails of terror. Every inch and cell on his body bursting out as his blood was forcefully expelled. Trying to fight off a creeping sense of hopelessness proved unfruitful as soon his entire body was transmuted in a burning sea of pain. "Good as new," muttered Geppeto looking down at his Pinocchio. The clock had struck noon and Sol-Zel inched himself forward from the nightmare.

5 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 8:57 pm



The fraudulent frivolity of the century was approaching its timely demise. In the decades leading to the new era, there was a retroactive shift across the minds. The ebb and flow of power had been warred between the independent kings and their rebellious subjects. However, the scatted kingdoms had rallied under one umbrella and ceased authority to the powerful of their lot. This unprecedented move catapulted the newly founded World Government to the top of the food chain. However, their detractors were growing in power and the looming threat of destruction prickled their sensibilities. It was this paranoia that fuelled The Codon Experiment. A cohort of influential individuals set in motion a plan to fortify their strength. Back then the Marines were recognized as the official power brokers. A collective of sea men, loyal to their masters, rabid to their opposition and cuffed into submission under the banner of 'Justice'. The second was the Cipher Pol. An elite assassination squad that was the talk of legend. 

Content in serving in the shadows, they were perceived as guardian angels. However, when the light was shone upon them their demonic hue of absolution had eradicated friend and foe alike. The Codon Experiment was an attempt to bolster the ranks within either side. In the lead up to the fourteenth century, the was a breakthrough in the scientific field. A team of individuals led by the maestro Tellah uncovered the secrets to god. At the infancy of the research the man had peered into the blueprints of life. This news broke through and reached the World Government who funded him in a bid to create the perfect solider. The crux of the operations was to create an absolute being. In the quest of superhuman entities, the modified humans were all blessed with a self-healing component. In theory, a modified musculature would be enhanced into an exoskeleton fortified in dense ions and fortified with clione stone fibre. 

This exoskeleton, an extension of the user's DNA would grow in accordance to their physical wellbeing. It was then discovered that to ensure absolute perfection external stress needed to be applied to sustain growth. If properly executed there lied the possibility of awakening their latent potential. The variability of genetic history ensured the emergence of complex pool of powers. On paper the powers were an exaggeration of human attributes at times bordering the supernatural. Enhanced bio electric production, poison synthesis to bionic strength; the possibilities were limitless. In extreme rare cases, new abilities could artificially be transplanted into the host. The aristocratic class colluded with the pioneers of the scientific field in their wish to usher a new dawn. Under the authority of the Five Elders, the allied fiefdoms that occupied the Grandline set the plan in motion. Of course, at the infancy of the projects errors were bound to arise. The first, success rates were directly proportionate to the age of the subjects. 

A simple miscalculation. One quantified by countless innocent lives or to the fine tune of eight billion beli to the nobles. The second wave of test fared much better. It was this iteration that poured itself to the Grandline. One such place had been the fishman settlement of Ymir. It was here that Sol-Zel of House Muldjewangk was born. On his second winter, his parents alongside with everyone else in his village, were attacked by the conquering mercenaries. Adults of fighting age were slain lest they rebel, whilst the children were enslaved and sold out as experimental livestock. Stripped of independence, his life became a condiment of chemicals. Shortly thereafter physical trauma became staple. The days were filled with structured training sessions designed to wear an adult into submission. Whilst, the nights became a carnival on an emotional distress themed park. This cyclical prison of torture was exemplified in the mountain of corpse left year by year. Those like Sol-Zel who remained invariably demonstrated capabilities of grandeur. 

Half a decade into the plan and an old beast was reacquainted with Sol. At around this age, he had qualified to make it into The Pit. Within Baltigo's Castle Blanche, the measure of a child's value tied to his acquired skill and the proficiency at which he could kill a man with it. The Pit. An underground battle dome comprised pristine walls of white and the expansive soundless walls. At age thirteen, Baraka was invited to its testing ground to prove his worth. Thrust, in that room with twenty others a metallic gong would sound before a man announced their purpose, "Kill or Else." The cruelty of their fates denied them a conscious. Worse yet, it had punished them by assigning their story lines a fight with Muldjewangk. Sol had always displayed enhanced aptitude to those who shared a fate with him. Physically he was of a larger stature and was among the few to obtain a Devil Fruit. 

Spoiled for choice, he drew onto Cube Cube no Mi. Empowered with levitation, he proceeded to cut a swath of destruction along the blood-slicked platforms clawing down wave of enemies until he plunged his chest into the last. Three hundred and twelves times, this macabre scene replayed before Sol-Zel's eyes. At times, it was an enemy to the kingdom, others it was innocent civilians from far lands who protested. His favorite were the humans who'd beg and offer riches for the life. However, in the end all that remained was the smear of red that dripped from his hands. All Baraka had known nothing but war. His mundane lifestyle had bogged him down long enough. It had come time to part ways with his masters. Monitored always, there would be one chance for escape. At the next upcoming Pit. Although, hardly mentioned in public, there was one practice which Castle Blanche was infamous for. In due time, it would be its undoing.

6 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 9:06 pm



"Come here Romulus." The rotund man urged, stretching out an arm each elongation giving rise to a jiggle that traveled across his pot belly. Sol-Zel's eyes veered right to the lard of mass before him. Laying sprawled prone on, was Carlo B. Nikole. To many he was a bastion of equality and head of House Bellinelli. Those fortunate to earn his favor were guaranteed Canaan. Every sector, be it the marine transport, real estate or banking services, the entirety of a nation's infrastructure was on his grasp. Naturally, his expansive power had even coursed into the political arena. To sum it up, he was the living embodiment of a god around these parts. Despite his wealth, he always carried himself with an air of nobility. One which seemed to harbor serenity and compassion. Quid pro quo, its expected his generosity had a price tag. An outlandish man, his appetite for life was an insatiable black hole. 

It was this zeal that led him to eat from the forbidden tree. For within his inner circle, it was known, he had taken to devouring the virility of youth. Throughout the years, his catalog had featured children of both sexes. Initially, finding targets proved easy given Baltigo's chaotic nature. Still, he desired something more exotic. Luck struck his door, following Ymir's Ransacking. Now, his game came directly to his own stomping ground. All it took was a few strings pulling and a section of his estate (Castle Blanche) would house them. A decade of sodomy and pure debauchery had followed ever since. At first, he had resigned to tender love making. Shortly thereafter acquiring a taste for teenage boys or rather aggressively shagging them. In particular, he had set his sights on Sol. However, there was a slight complication. The Codon soldiers were invaluable assets and only upon absolute failure would they be discarded. Typically, the results of The Pit determined the outcome. 

For years, he had watched as the supple buttocks of Muldjewank eluded him. The candle light that was hope was slowly dying. Each year the boy soared to heights that undermined his power. All that didn't matter now. Sol-Zel had failed this year. As was custom, he was to be secluded for re-examination. Carlo's chance to strike was now. "I won't bite." he implored before bursting into a cackling laugh. No sooner had he started than did he stop amidst wheezing breath. On the other hand Sol-Zel had remained rooted at the center of the room. Joining him and scattered across the room were several marine personnel. Unperturbed by the demands of their pedophile master they remained silent. Behind Sol were two agents that had shared the battlefield with him in the past. In one motion Sol angled his head back much to their surprise and inhaled. The air had metamorphosed into an atypical dense like gel. 

Harboured within Baraka was a myriad of memories. His mother. Ymir. The experiments. All blurred memories from a smoldering bonfire that had slowly dissipated in his mind. Yet, as he breathed in and looked at the cold ceiling, a single spark was lit, then several embers and before long he was set ablaze. Without so much as blinking his eye, Muldjewangk pushed into the ground and he jumped two and a half meters into the air. In one sweeping motion, he angled his body into a forty-five-degree angle and swung right. It was then that his kick landed squarely on one agents chin delivering an uppercut in the process. Amid flight, he had pulled both his wrists which were chained and directed them to his left. The swift reaction of the second Cipher Pol arrived as promptly predicted. In a rush to prune the bud of revolt, the agent had and blindly slashed ahead. 

No sooner had he done so than a compressed blast of air flew past him with tremendous speed and power. Enough to cut loose the metallic bands that restrained him. Silence befell the room as the prey landed on his feet. Backed by the torrential power of rage, Baraka stood fearlessly tall as an impenetrable force. His entire psyche was in one accord with him and all his muscles relaxed in preparation for the ensuing battle. As for his enemies, a diverse set human emotion ranging from awe to shock and fear kicked in all at once. Scoffing in disbelief an exasperated Carlo flopped himself upright. "ROMULUS. You dare turn your fangs at ME." he screamed a top of his lungs smudging the bed and floor in spit. Similarly, his exasperated tone was enough to send his marine guard berserk. In the blink of an eye, four men spread themselves before Baraka and two more sagged back to protect Carlo. "You ungrateful FISH. I  was a PARE..." Hardly was the phrase uttered than did No'Ri react. "Begone." he snapped.

7 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 9:22 pm



September's cool ambiance stirred Baraka's pupils into a turquoise gleam that attuned to the minute details of his surroundings. Clenching his finger, he gently switched into a soft stance by sliding his right leg back. At the other end, the ensemble of soldiers, spread their formation and formed a peacock feathered blade. Fear and overconfidence always manifested as a repulsive field of potential failure which invariably drew in predators to these singled-out souls. From observing the mannerism of the left flank this unexplained pull was at its strongest, an ill-boding sign for the competition. Without so much as batting an eye Sol-Zel lashed out with malicious intent. At the time eight meters stood between him and his enemies. In one step, the tensile power behind his hind leg covered half the distance. Moreover, the speed and explosive power at hand was so great that it ruptured the ground into several earthen blocks. Upon the completion of second step, Baraka had swooped to the floor, using his hands as a pivot.

Muldjewangk proceeded to employ Cheonsul as he spread his legs into splits and begun a revolution. His first spin was intense. The propeller that was his legs amassed enough air to fire a wave that traveled omni-directionally. A ripple that condensed under the potent chill of September. Upon hitting Carlo’s men it had pushed them slightly. Nonetheless, Baraka surged in ferocity. At the the height of his technique the room was gripped in winter's chill. A torrential twister swelling viciously in a whirl that bombarded and condensed the wall of marine swordsmen. For a split second the lowered their guard. That was all Sol-Zel needed. Suddenly, he sprung straight and ran forward out of the encased cone of wind. Heading to his left, he encountered a young feminine looking marine. Swiftly, he jumped slightly in the air and brought his right leg down to the marine's right knee. In the commotion of the ice storm present, the crunching noise of his snapping foot was drowned.

On the other hand, his pained scream was loud and clear. Ledged on his broken limb, Sol had proceeded to execute a spinning heel kick and carved his bucket nose in. The chained attack was far from done. Whilst airborne, No'Ri edged his right leg around, curling his toes to exaggerate the protrusion of the ball of his foot. What followed this was pincer kick that burrowed into the next man. Finally, he landed on his two feet. Now that their formation had failed, the enemy’s aggression was cranked a notch. Two of the marines charged ahead prompting Sol-Zel to drop down to his right knee. He swiveled three hundred degrees simultaneously sweeping his left leg anticlockwise. The charging bulls fall prey to the matador's brilliance as he successful knocks them of their feet. Rage personified, Sol resumed his offense by hurriedly arising and pulling the hanging enemies by their feet. Hardly had their heads made it to his hand than did he activate another innate ability.

"PUSH" he proclaimed as the room flashed a lush hue of green. Subsequently, his hands resonated the same glare. he clamped his hands on the men's heads. From here he brought them screeching down. The hammer like constitution of his hands opposed the floor and caved it in. Unfortunately, the enemies’ skulls weren't as lucky. As he pulled his arms out the ground the pulp mess of brain, eyeballs and teeth was all that remained. The last of the marine, more cautious than the rest wasted not time in unleashing a slash. Sol-Zel did not move back fast enough and failed to dodge, taking the full brunt of the attack. This man was impressive evidenced by how far across the room he had been sent. Muldjewangk rose to his feet immediately, his shirt coming apart in the process revealing the deep gash. Following this, he bobbed momentarily and tensed his bicep. "You dare attack Muldjewangk. I shall reward you insolense" 

An intrinsic rage, Cube Cube might and Sol-Zel mind combined into an orange box that glided on. Nonchalantly, Sol-Zel then turned to face Carlo. His face creased with a blend of discontent and fury. In the heat of battle, the spineless man had fled. Desperately looking around the room, Sol-Zel couldn't decipher his escape route. This didn't bode well as this could only mean reinforcements were on the way. Biting his lip in frustration, he turned around and rushed out the room. Adrenaline coursed through his blood as the possibility of his possible freedom hit. The youthful exuberance of longing powered his movement and he he could taste it. Almost, as in the eleventh hour a hollowed boom had sent him swimming through concrete. Now here he lay woefully wounded as the devil in the flesh walked briskly towards him

8 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 9:32 pm



The man sat quietly behind a mahogany desk. To his left was an incandescent stream from a smouldering fireplace. Its proliferating radiance casting his silhouette to the right. This shadowy imprint, exaggerated his slender profile into hulking proportions. For were one to gaze onto the wall they would be remiss not to evoke the imagery of a demon. In particular, the claw-like transmutation of his twig like index finger. A finger that had taken to tapping in intervals no less than milliseconds. Each thump an animated effort to stab boredom dead. The chiming tick and tock of the single ancient clock above the fireplace joined in the attempt. In this chamber space and time languidly slugged on. An eerie atmosphere that drummed up the smallest of sounds. Yet, the man attention lay elsewhere and his environment was nothing more than an after though. Suddenly, a blustering torrent tore through the window behind him. The wind stormed into the room, tossing about papers en route to turning of his fire. 

No sooner had the flame been extinguished than did the chambers door burst open. Two armed guards rushed, with the older of the two clasping his great battle axe. "Are you ok" he inquired, his tone urgent as the speed by which his partner scanned the room. Their boss remained unresponsive. "Oscar, get some light" the man continued, a cold sweat streaking down his back. The industrious man set to work, fumbling, and bumbling to success. Once the fire was rolling, Oscar looked on to his boss. "Did you get some sleep. Sire" the young man muttered gazing upon the emaciated husk of their employer. Benaim’s thoughts maintained their wander in his mental asylum. "Is everything alight?" It was then that Benaim ceased moving and stood up. Behind the desk arose the deceptively tall man who briskly made his way to the window. His back turned, he uttered but one statement, "Where is SHE?" However, the erupting pound of his signature low pitch voice resonated viciously around the room. 

Oscar and Tomasa found themselves sprawled on the ground in awe of his might. Benaim jerked his right hand to his mouth and commenced biting his nails. Spewing a stream of profanities, he proceeded to lay a verbal tirade. Alas, his words were lost under the thumb that obscured his lips. Still, the two guards dare not move lest they incur his fury. Lost in wonder, the two finally mustered the courage to stand after a lengthy stretch of time. In fact, it was the raspy croak that echoed through the vast plains and into the window that sparked their action. Shortly, thereafter another such sound erupted and signalled the dawn of the new month. Benaim’s trance was broken and he looked ahead at the rising sun that seemed to mock him. In a fit of rage, he turned back and found Oscar and Tomasa pridefully rooted before him. Pursing his lips half an inch he barked orders under his breath as his rabid eyes glared into theirs. "Find Her

Ninth District had been reignited by the passionate adulation that characterized its zealous inhabitants. The excited smiles of teens & the loud jubilant laughter from the elderly; filled the streets. The summer sun was out and shone brightly on the cloudless sky, while a cool westerly breeze blew past the town, bringing with it a calm refreshing feeling. The time had ripened and it was time for ‘that.’ To prepare for the event the town's locals as well as those from surrounding villages had come out in full swing. The locale was the nerve center of the underworld underground battles. Its concrete households and wooden establishments all housing sportsmen. Individuals who were addicted to a torturous drug masked as excellence. A life whose value was measured in the fields of Elis against countless others. Yes, annual Pit had arrived & with it came the palpable longing for wealthy, glory and decadence. In one such house, napping to the blissful tune of her breath was Maria.

9 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 9:35 pm



Rosamaria Caprenau Barbosa. An amalgam of names that delegated the triumvirate that embodied and ruled a singular entity. Maria; The feminine descriptor that elaborated on its personal identity and sex. For the sake of ease masked as the misplaced attempt of youthful flavour it was shortened to Maria. Caprenau; An ethnic epithet hailing from Byzantium that ironically inferred to her animal familiar. Initially, a keep sake from her maternal kinfolk it signaled their pride as a people. Bashful, strong-minded and unfettered they were characterized as the Goats of Capricon. Barbosa; The titular name of the twelfth founding family of Warship Island's Rome. Theirs's was an existence of absolute brilliance. Gaining prominence from marine-time exploits, they quickly catapulted to the political arena. In the halls of senate, they had bobbed and weaved the gruesome battle of powerful men, towing the line between bureaucracy and nepotism. In the end their sanctimonious ploy had brought about victory. One spanning a six hundred year history of power. To incur their ire was akin to death.

Flipping through the annals of their blood-soaked history we arrived to the present. To the ninth daughter and youngest child of the current leader, Maria. Born of royalty her childhood had been a cake walk through life. Between the overprotective siblings, maids and her damning fate she had suffocated smother of love. For all her imagination could muster, her father had made it his mission to provide. Yet, in her blood coursed the Caprenau'sa gift. She had the warriors curse and in the advent of her teens, her angst beckoned to it. In her one of her many demands, she had asked to be whisked away to Baltigo. It was here aged fourteen that she came face to face with the Plains of Elis. The allure of blood, sweat and tears that was on display for the world yanked away her sensibilities. In turn poisoning her mind with the daunting desire of one singular thought; Glory. With a sense of purpose attained, the young bambino had skipped to her father and demanded her turn her a warrior. 

However, her father was vehemently against it. Barbossa family had a reputation to maintain. Nothing proved distasteful than mingling with the common folk and mindlessly engaging each other. Yet, here was his daughter trying to follow in his oldest son's footsteps. His desperation boiled over and he agreed obliged his daughter under one condition. In his mind her latest infatuation would cease once she witnessed the harrowing madness of true battle. It was this ingenious act that had led about to him bringing her to The Pit. At age fourteen Maria had witnessed the harrowing madness as several child solders desperately fought for their lives. However, whilst some saw death and brutality, she saw grace and brilliance painted in strokes of red. Thus, it came to pass her father's failure to influence her decision and her enrollment in a martial class. In a plight to overcome her perceived imperfections, she underwent a grueling physical regimen. 

In the years that followed she honed her tutors sharpened her into a walking weapon. Her dedicated to her craft took so her abandon her imperial quarters and take modest accommodation. Living amongst the rubble of society she was prime target of her peers and would often face of in handicaps. What's more other aristocrats took to her new-found hobby as a sign of mental illness. None dare say it to her face but it was there in their expressions, in the faces she had come to associate with her mother. In the dissatisfaction that her older sisters had made known during tense family dinners. Strangely enough, it was the former' who mellowed with her success and came to accept her as one of her own. To the fighters, Caprenau, ceased to be simply her household. Rather it became the epithet by which her erratic fighting nature and well deserved winning streak stood for. She was the black sheep turned G.O.A.T. A factor she relished & prideful made known.

Still what she longed for most was in underworld's The Pit. On the list of names penned on Best of The Best warrior's ledger. Alas! the stiffing nature of destiny had finally crept up on her. In the four years since her journey into the rabbit hole, her relationship with her father had all but shattered. This culminated with his final parting decision he imposed on her life. While she had fought physical, psychological, and emotional battles, her too had waged war with Goa. In the end the shrewd man had reached agreement with one to be sealed of this very day. The blossomed Maria on the other hand had opposed him to the very end. Which is why as she turned over in her bed and smiled. Pulling the white linen over the bottom of her face, she gazed to the edge of her bed. At the striations on that ran the full length of her partners' muscular back. Now that the light shone on him, she noticed the swirled triangle symbol on his trapezium. Enamored by the power he exuded she reached out to it her cold finger running against it. "Please stay!"

10 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 9:46 pm



Leopold The Third, sunk himself slowly into his magenta cushioned golden throne. Calmly he stitched his finger into a tight interlock and dragged them to the back of his pecan dreadlocks. At present, he was forcibly squeezing the life from his eyelids as muffled moans escaped his agape mouth. To his south, a head bobbed up and down with the occasional sways that forced him to grunt. The head belonged to Lady Beatrice. Crown princess and daughter to Goa Kingdom's King Gangir as well as third cousin removed to Leopold The First, Second and Third. Both were lost in passion when there was an abrupt knock. 

Hurriedly, Leopold reached to his rob and adjusted himself straight before pushing past his cousin. Forcing Beatrice collapse awkwardly onto her belly. Meanwhile, her relative stormed to receive his guest. Pausing to catch his breath, he gathered his thoughts and yanked the door open. "What" the word erupted from the feigned visage of his exuberant smile. A flustered maid blushed at the brilliance of his dazzling grin. "We've arrived" a second interjected as her hardened expression mellowed into streaks of red across her face. For the young prince, what stood before him was game. A sly smile spread on his face and he looked back to his cousin. Her eyes earnestly longing for his touch. "Lusia, Mariko. Why don't you join me for old times’ sake" The words came hot in the heels of him fondling Riko. "Think of it as the pre-party" he whispered, ushering them as he shut the door with his foot.

Leaning on a column of metallic poles, Sol-Zel's attention was directed at the multitude that roamed beneath the ports beacon tower. The Pit's benefactor had issued a challenge, cordial invites, and forceful order to the Blues in hopes of witnessing the aptitude of the very best. In this plaza stood the daring spirits of warriors who felt powerful to face the world. From the lush secluded isle of animals in Zou to the gigantic natives of Elbaf, each island, race and gender was represented. Oddly enough the atmosphere was generally pleasant some combatants jovial enough to engage in pleasantries and mundane conversations. Amidst them was Maria. Weapon at hand, she walked about nonchalantly soaking in the various sites. Despite, the temporary calmness of her surroundings, she could not help but feel on edge. This was her D day. All her efforts were to be tested and regardless of outcome would be robbed at the same time. Sol-Zel unsympathetically observed on.

Long enough until royalty blended with the common folk and vanished into the battle ground. Within that space of time a fleet ships had pulled in East, and docked. This piqued his interest. The vessels had been too plain looking to be merchant’s ships, lacking the signature white flag and five point cross of the World Government's former personal dogs or the skull, bones and random artistic marvels of a pirates Jolly Rodger. In the end a procession of heavily armed guards pulled out. The grandeur of the arrival was met with subservience as the populace ceased all activity. Leading the million-man march was the slender fair complexioned man. An air of royalty emanated from him and this was soon confirmed by those who stepped out to meet him. Sol-Zel clasped his shaking right hand and tightly bit onto his lip. Less than a hundred meters away was his target. Benim Barbosa marched forward with his goons to receive the young man. "Prince Leopold, I trust you journey was pleasant? I've wanted to meet such a brilliant man" the silk toned barrington professed.

Askin simply smiled and bowed, "Father, I'd prefer if you called me Leo. Forget rank and the like. We are to be family after all." To the uninitiated masses such a revelation caught them by surprise. One of heaven's sons had not only blessed a lower status existence not once but twice. Marriage and a Bow! What was next? Benim pride swelled and he roared into laughter. "Come my son. Your bride awaits." Askin wry smile emerged once more as he walked over to Barbosa. Father and Son-In-Law hugged before both matched on into the tournament. The banality of the common man had been sparked by the recent events. Rumors and hersay spread like bonfire gripping Baltigo in hysteria. Yet, for all the praise, shock, and admiration the union received, Sol-Zel's fury burned brightest. Satiated by the accuracy of the information Muldjewank scoffed at Maria's obstinate will power and thought back to the events of the morning.

11 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 9:54 pm



"Please stay!" she implored, the rasp in her voice highlighting both the parch of the night long sleep & her desperation. Maria inched to the bed's edge and wrapped around her partner. Nested onto the hardened surface of his back, she pressed into him. Her supple breast resting on his back, she rubbed herself against his skin. Unperturbed by the advances, Sol-Zel engaged his attention to re-equipping his feet's golden bangles. Similary, Maria's desire spiked her own tactic. In a last stitch effort, she dropped her luscious lips to his nape and kissed it gently. The wetness of her lips forced No'Ri to hang his head low. Cornered by her feminine charm, Baraka fell prey to his instinct. For the fourth time in their short history he had been hypnotized. Mirroring her every act, he obliged her demands and fell back on the bed. 

Baraka encounter with Rosamaria was a blur to him. What was undoubtedly true was the chemistry. Nothing cliche as love or romance. No. Simply put they were troubled souls with a checked past and enjoyed using each other. The latter's erratic femininity subdued by his turbulent ferocity. In the night leading to her marriage, Rosamaria had ran into her muse. The feral child whose primal urge to survive was captured in combat. A battle that had sparked her Odyssey into Wonderland. Sol's purpose was singular but this bird-brained lady had seduced him. Admittedly, Zel liked to think he let himself get seduced but he knew better. Yet, either choice was fine by him. For in the hours after their bedroom escapes, an emotional Maria had divulged on her situation. From her wonderful childhood to her planned marriage to some noble. Her irksome ramble had taken the good part of three hours. By the time, she was done Sol-Sel had long fallen asleep. 

In his slumber, he had deliberated on how to best kill her. Forget the savouring power of her sexual prowess captured by those lips and hips. This woman was the offspring to his tormentor. All he had to do was twist her head ninety degrees and retribution would be attained. However, he could not bring himself to rationalize her murder. Thus, he slept on, her warmth, the closest to love he had known. As for Rosa, this man was her final affront to her father and husband. Her purity was sullied & she revelled in the scandal that would arise. That is, if either man dared call of the wedding. Sitting on the tower, Sol-Zel cracked a smile amused by her genius. At the same time, he looked down onto the docks once more. The most crucial piece of information, Maria had provided was about to unfold. A procession of carts adorned in the Bellineli's family lion insignia pulled into the dock. A lean man, dark in complexion, alights. 

He had a large gold chain necklace and long flowing maroon garb. Joining him were a group of boys in less appealing clothing. The prepubescent teens soon vanished to the back of the carts and emerged with chests. Royal tradition demanded that the less wealthy of two betrothed families offer gifts to the superior. Following, this Benim Barbosa had taken out a loan from his associate Lord Belineli. The latter’s activities in financing had spread his banks to as far as Baltigo. One of such branches was stationed right by the docks. A methodical man, Benim had called upon his services and requested his son-in-law's ship be stocked. To maintain discretion, lest an enemy raid, he had gone as far as buying a new ship and advised the ship to be monitored not guarded. Why Maria had seen fit to divulge this information, Sol-Zel did not know. In the off chance this was a trap...he shuddered at the though. If she lied, he'd escape and come kill her and her worthless kin.

Reaching to his back, Baraka stretched before finally standing up. Activating his fruit's inherent levitating properties, he glided to the ship. The last of the errand boys had alighted the vessel, leaving it unnamed. "I wonder how much his daughter was worth to him" Baraka mused as he surged Cube Cube fruit. Forging its whirling power, it materialized a large air cube on the palm of his hand. Soon after he fired the ball to the sea and once connected its brilliance came to fruition. First was the huge explosion that ensued and tossed the ship airborne, propelling it as it ripped through space. Riding against the element of surprise, he concluded the attack by punching with his right. The tidal wave that had arisen was soon smacked solid into crystals that poured onto the ground. A magnificent touch to the floating ship that slowly pulled away from land.

12 Re: [GV] THE BOOK OF on Sun Jan 14, 2018 9:57 pm



The Santa Maria's keel fiercely plunged the salty waters off an isolated isle. The might behinds its splash swashed a bubbling wave to shore. Aboard, was 'Bakasura', starved and dehydrated by the last hour's escape. The pestering crow of seagull, groggily ripped him from his slumber. In one heave he, dropped down from the main mast to the ship's figure head. The dangerous combination of his sea legs and intrinsic speed proved a deadly mix. Caught off guard by the mismatch in power he slipped. Two hundred pounds of muscle met the cement like ocean and gave rise to a spectacular water bomb. Submerged in Poseidon realm, the pristine waters felt delightful crisp as a numbing chill unreservedly solaced his simmering skin. Obscured from the glorious golden blaze of the cloudless summer's eve he swam about enjoying his youth for once. The gifts prepared for Prince Leopold were unexpectedly grand. In the time leading to his ascent, Sol-Zel had scanned its interior and gob smacked with a monumental discovery. 

Back in Baltigo, Rosamaria had collapsed by a hospital bed, her foot being attended to. Prince Leopold was beside her professing love, his charismatic charm bringing her to laugh periodically. In truth as she stared into his dreamy oceanic blue eyes, she longed to grab his neck and choke him. At the docks, Bellinelli and Barbosa sat quietly in the former's quarters. Loss for words, they listened to the take on the day's attack from Shibeth. Carlo's top lieutenant concluded the briefing and placed blame on an identified white haired man. At this mention, Benim shot a sharp glance to his partner. Carlo's sucked into his teeth and slammed his hand on the table demanding they be left alone. Rosamaria's selfish indulges had affected another soul. For unbeknownst to her, the true purpose of The Santa Maria was in its service as a temporary coin purse. A floating bank that wasn't simply levying Barbosa matrimonial offering but the first step to Carlo setting shop as a top Underworld associate.

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