Description
((Picture not mine and copyright ABC Entertainment. All rights reserved. Will remove if asked.))
Memphisâ face isn't one of true beauty, or even substantial beauty for that matter. His healthy and surprisingly young looking grey hair comes down to hang around his ears, his scarred and tattooed face has him looking very disturbed and even frightening. His eyes, a very light green, stand out against his tanned and leathery skin when his power is focused on them. Otherwise, his eyes fade to a blank white, pure and unflawed as Christmas snow. His mouth is a bit lopsided, but when he smiles, his white teeth distract from anyone looking too closely at the scars that off-center his lips, yet more evidence of his troubled times on earth. In short, he is a young man in a withering body, a body that's seen much too much peril.
His body structure is one of a man who not only runs often, but pushes great weight with his legs as well. While his upper body could be described as âleanâ, being cut and trimmed, with veins poking through his hard muscles, his legs are massive tree trunks of bone, skin, and muscle, evidence of a man who uses his legs often to escape, fight, and various other strenuous tasks. His kicks are powerful without his power, but his steps are light in contrast, every flex in his leg clearly displayed underneath the clothing he wears.
Memphis, in an attempt to blend in, made some very strange choices in regards to fashion. Originally, he wore a purple windbreaker on top of black track pants, but when he received scorn for his outfit, he changed it to a navy blue flak jacket that he stole off of a police officer, (The yellow print stating âN.Y.P.Dâ clear on the back) a white t-shirt underneath. His pants choice varies, but he favours dark jeans, taking small pleasure in the comfort and feel that jeans give to him. His shoes are bright red converse, and have been with him since his first week on earth. Around his neck, the one article of clothing that he will never remove, is silver plated cross. Imprinted on the cross in raised lettering is âGABEâ, the nickname of his love.
Memphis is roughly 5000 years old, and he didn't bother keeping track once he hit 4982. He looks to be about forty.
Equipment
Weapon:
Broadsword, steel toed boots.
SPECIAL ABILITY: Enhanced Strength.
When Memphis was a full angel, he was a beast of a man- almost 7 feet high and weighing 290. However, through his fall and his trials, Memphis lost a lot of size, becoming a much reduced 6â4 and weighing in at 190. However, his size reduction has not impacted his power whatsoever.
Memphis has the unique ability to create extra force behind blows utilizing his enhanced strength. This ability is not limited to any part of his body; he routinely enhances his eye strength to see at night, his wing strength to fly faster and farther. But being nearly human has changed Memphisâ tactics when using his ability; he focuses now on his legs.
Because of his love for flying, and out of his yearning for it, Memphis trained himself to make impossible leaps â up to twenty feet in the air â by channelling his energy into his legs. This allows him to have a chance in combat against other angels and demons with flight capabilities, and levels the playing field a tad, as was Memphisâ intention.
However, Memphisâ ability is not limitless. The strength of the ability is only at its peak power when itâs focusing on one body part. If two body parts are being channelled to (ie: Eyes and arms) the power is quartered, while the rest of the body behaves as normal. Therefore, Memphis can only channel his power to a maximum of two body functions, and his standard is legs and eyes.
If he takes the power off of his eyes for only a second, however, Memphis becomes almost completely blind, because of a side effect of tearing his wings off. Also, he can only sustain a body function at full power for a maximum of 30 minutes, or he starts getting dangerously exhausted.
History
Winter raged about him as Memphis screamed in pain, the saw dragged across his back, ripping through his left wing. Around him, black feathers and bloody cartilage fluttered in the snow-laden wind, a stark, bleak reminder of his terrible deed in the face of losing everything he had â finally.
He considered it a sacrifice. He had to consider it a sacrifice, or the insanity of his actions would catch up to him and suffocate him, forcing him to admit that what he was doing was selfish, undeserved, evil, even.
He was an angel. An angel who was supposed to not only help people, but allow them to be saved, to provide shelter from the evil of this world. He was supposed to be good.
He had failed.
With another cry, he shoved the saw deeper into his wing, slicing through it. He fell forwards, coughing, surrounded by black feathers, blood, and pain. Pain of who he was, what he once was, and what he would become. He used to be an angel. Now, he was a fallen, a mortal, someone who was able to die, who would be thrown into the fires of life without an exit. He wasnât able to fly, he wasnât able to live as he did.
The jagged remains of his wings still protruded from his spine as he gasped in pain, his body filled with feelings heâd never before experienced. Cold. Hunger. Exhaustion. These punishments handed down to mortals for not being good enough. These punishments, which it was his duty to prevent. His duty...
Memphis used to be an angel, and now he was something in between. He used to be glorious, and now he was damned. He opened his lungs and screamed, the black feathers slowly being covered by the blizzard, the blood seeping into the cracks in the cement, the wordless yell awakening humans of every shape and form. He screamed, and sirens wailed in the night as his lungs expelled the sound, a warning, a cry, a prayer for mercy. When his lungs gave out and his voice failed him, he fell to the ground, in the fetal position, sobbing her name over and over again, weeping his tears, his hatred, his crushing defeat all over the bleak, snow covered ground.
His final thought before his mind finally shut down from exhaustion and his body could stand no more, shirtless and broken on the snow covered ground, was that he deserved this.
All of it.
===
Some say love is not for sinners, and in Memphisâ case, he would disagree strongly with those people. Heâd also rip them limb from limb.
[[The Man, the Monster... and the Myth.]]
An extraordinary tale thatâs spread through mentors and whispered among students, Memphisâ struggle has become somewhat of a legend among those who visit and live in the Seventh. Memphis was a high level Mentor, on his way to becoming an archangel like Gabriel and Micheal, when he suddenly was cast down, downgraded to a low-level mentor for unexplained causes. Some say it was because of his love of a human, and Gabriel was jealous. Others say that Memphis insulted the great angel. The real reason, however, is much worse.
[[Choose, my son; The woman or us?]]
On an assignment for the archangels who were ready and willing to accept Memphis into their ranks, a very unexpected thing happened; Memphis fell in love. The womanâs name was Gabriella, and she was a Satanist, a gothic girl who Memphis truly believed he could change. After spending some time together, Gabriella realized that an angel had visited her, to guide her away from her life and turn towards one more suitable to an Angelâs path. Before they could be together, however, Gabriella died, shot down by a madman with a gun.
[[An Angel Scorned is a man with wings.]]
All was not lost to Memphis, however, until the last shoe dropped; Gabriella was damned by the archangels to not be cherished in death, but to be released to the wild, never to be mentioned in the Seventh again. Hurt, angry, and confused by these emotions, Memphis challenged Gabriel and the archangels to a duel, angrily declaring that if he won, Gabriella was to be inducted into the righteous; a circle that Memphis created, of the most cherished and honourable humans. If the archangels won, however, Memphis was to never speak of his love again. The fight raged for two days, and at the beginning of the third, Memphis lay defeated. Rather than live without mention of his love, he left the seventh.
[[He will feel the hurt long after the pain is washed away.]]
Blinded by despair and rage, Memphis took a human saw to his wings, cutting them to twin jagged lines that now jut from his back, evidence of a life that once was. Among the angels, his story became almost a myth, a word of warning to young students who believed that they could fool around with humans as their playthings. The mentors point to the sad and extreme case of the angel once known as Jude, who now goes by the place on earth he landed in; Memphis.
[[For a man and a state are one and the same.]]
Two years after his fall, Memphis decided to get back on his feet. Utilizing the meagre powers that were left to him through his fall, Memphisâ true goal is to gain some answers from his ex-colleagues. He wanted to visit his master, Raiden, and his classmates, Kolfer and Leon. Above all, however, he wanted to meet with Gabriel, to explain why he acted the way he did.
Memphis just hopes that two years isnât too long a time for closure.
===
JUDAS:
Occasionally, Memphis will mention a demon named Judas. When Memphis was still named David, Judas was a famous fallen angel, that has since been wiped from the record books, who decided that he hated humanity. He fell to earth and attempted to raise an army to attack a nearby city. Memphis, then a mere student, waged open war on the rogue angel, defeating him and his army and proving himself an early candidate for an Archangel. He rose quickly through the ranks, with Micheal and Gabriel watching him very closely.
So begins...
Memphis burst into the room at the sound of her shout, the black wife beater he often wore not even close to hiding the ugly, black spines that stretched out from his shoulder blades, shrivelled and contrasting drastically to his tanned skin. The man took a glance around her room before whispering in the near dark.
"Gab...riella. What's wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" His eyes were wide, glancing around the room with quick, jerky movements.
"Don't be sorry. No, never be sorry." Memphis whispered in the darkness, moving around to place his hand on top of the distraught girl's head. They'd finally landed here after he was absolutely sure that Lamp's justice wasn't coming - or, at the very least, was delayed somewhat. For once, he was thankful that the son of a bitch was a little delayed by the other powers of the 'verse.
"I'm... here. I wish I could... tell me what you see. When you -when you dream." He was stuttering and stammering, but he just couldn't get used to the idea that she was here, and she was alive.
Memphis nodded as her arms wrapped around him, hands pressing into his back as she hugged him with ferocity. Pain radiated from where her hands were placed on his back - there would always be pain where his wings once were, he realized - but at he moment the slow ache was a minute price to pay for the welcome feeling of her touch on him - around him. Anywhere. He nearly cried at the idea that this was his Gabby, that she was here and alive.
He nodded at her words. "You've experienced something that most people can't even cope with. The human brain cannot cope with such depth of emotion, and as a result, it shuts down and blocks off the experience."
He leaned back, his face tilted toward her "You've seen death, Gabriella. Death and darkness and light, all at the same time. You were Judged, and you were found to not be needed in the heavens just yet. I'm so glad you weren't."
There were times in men's lives where they had to make a choice, where they had to put force into their words and ensure that the receiver got the message. These times could include times of violence or times of war; times of racism or bigotry, or even peace. Leaders around the world stood up on podiums, generals crouched in trenches, doctors faced a surgical team, and each and every one of them were willing to stand up, open their mouths, and deliver something that their reception would be able to take with them. In these moments, they made their words larger than life, made them tangible, made the person hearing them able to put the words behind their ribcage and take it with them.
Memphis wasn't a leader, or a general, and his stitching was too messy and chaotic to be a surgeon. But still, he channelled this energy, made the woman he loved - loves - not only hear what he was saying, but feel it.
"I'm not going anywhere." He said, in the darkness. He shifted her backwards, lying down on the bed beside her, maneuvering her so that she was curled into her body. "Never."
