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Torrential

Wolf in Wolf's clothing.

0 · 1,398 views · located in Wing City

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by NotAFlyingToy

Description

Tyler, the Creator wrote:Jesus called, he said he's sick of the disses,
I told him to quit bitchin'; this isn't a fuckin' hotline,
For a fuckin' shrink, sheesh I already got mine
And he's not fuckin' workin', I think I'm wastin' my damn time,

Image

He moves without swiftness but with striding arrogance, a confidence that is born from rough times that he's muscled through. He is the rock in the sea, as lethal as acid rain. He swats men and woman aside, disgusted by the weaker species. He thinks Vampires will rule the earth, one day. It's only a matter of time.

Age: 935 at current date.
Bio: A vampire that doesn't care about politics or who is currently at large in the world. He wants two things; pleasures of life and the death of his enemies. He is willing to bend who the second rule applies to so long as someone supplies him with the first.

Equipment:

  • Two (2) 9mm Handguns, with sixteen (16) round clips. He keeps eight clips of spare ammunition on each side of his belt, with an additional two clips of special bullets.
  • One (1) Sawed off Shotgun, kept in a back holster. Shells for this are kept across his chest in an ammunition strap.
  • One (1) Katana, laced over the shotgun in a back sheath. Treated Alloy that is made to be kept extremely sharp.
  • Three (3) throwing daggers kept on opposite ammunition strap across his chest.
  • One (1) combat knife with serrated edge, kept in his boot. Treated with the same alloy as his Katana, listed above.

Abilities:
  • Night Vision; in accordance to his ranking as a high-level vampire, Torrential can see very well in the dark, as he primarily hunts nocturnally.
  • Martial Arts; he has had many decades to dedicate his body to the art of killing and nothing else. As such, he is a master of Boxing, Kendo, Judo, Jujutsu, Tae Kwan Do, and most recently Krav Maga.
  • Enhanced Speed/Strength; as a vampire who is nearly a millennia old, Torrential has the strength and speed as someone who has that kind of experience with being undead.

So begins...

Torrential's Story

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Torrential spat, quietly. Confusion coloured his expression as the cop's yelling exploded through his subconscious. She was backing down. In all his lifetime, he had never seen a Lycan dog back down from a fight. Interest quickly flooded his mind as he looked her over, from head to toe, taking in her form. "Well," he drawled. "Aren't you interesting."

"The dog never puts her tail between her legs. You're on your own turf, too. The plot thickens indeed, Lycan. Still, I'm curious. Precisely why is it that there's no point to fighting me? Other than to win, of course."

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;/ooc Yeah, gang. I can't continue this today, unfortunately.

The setting changes from Dark Woods to Twisted Path

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A simple walk through the forest, was all he truly wanted. A chance to stretch his legs and think about the coming sunlight, waltz through the trees and introspect on his long and many years. Almost one thousand. Nearing one thousand years on the earth, and what had he done?

He'd murdered, true. Truer still, he felt glory and honor. But there was a burning sensation inside of him that he hadn't done many things in his life. He hadn't ever had a relationship, for instance. Never really occurred to him. Sure, he had his interesting friendship with Dominic, that always kept it unique and a good time, but he'd never had a lasting one. And Dominic was dead.

He suddenly stopped in the trees, and inhaled deeply. A playful smile spread across his face and he looked into the canopy of trees. "Lycan," he snarled. "I can smell you."

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He grinned up at her, baring his fangs. "I'm starting to think you missed me. You're depressingly easy to track."

With one hand, he gestured at the distance between them, eyes dark slits. "We have business to attend to, you and I. This time, there aren't humans around to save you. I was thinking we could have a discussion about how much of a mangy fleabag you are."

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He barked out a laugh at her, his voice resonating in the forest. "I think you're confusing me with yourself, dearest." His voice was a mockery of kindness, one that carried between them in a too-light, too-airy tone. "I could smell how... happy, you were to be in a combat situation."

He waved his hand, fluttering. "But enough of these games. I'm not here to kill you, though it would bring me great joy. No, I'm here to ask you a question or two. Namely, if there are others like you."

His grin was feral, then. "I do so enjoy murdering mutts."

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He chuckled, moving to face her as she circled him. She didn't seem predatory in her pursuit of him, but the glances she kept shootng him were a different story. His smile was still sinister, tongue flicking between gleaming teeth as he examined her closely, surely, levely.

"Ah, so you're an outcasted fleabag. That makes for interesting table discussion. For what were you cast out, dearest? Laying with the enemy?" He smirked again, corners tilting upwards as his tongue touched his canines, dipping and moving with the shape of his teeth.

"I'd be very interested to know."

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He grinned at her, not denying her claims of his baser natures.

"A coven? Well, aren't you misinformed. No, there aren't any true groupings of Vampires around these parts. Not counting the Lessards, but... well, they're assholes." He said it plainly, simply.

Statement of fact. "I'm a solo vampire, mostly. I don't play well with others. They tend to irritate me." He lifted a massive shoulder. "In a way, I suppose, we're similar. Except for the utter distasteful way you smell. Ever heard of a shower? Or stood in the rain long enough to get the scent of earth off of you? It's like smelling a mine shaft."

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"The more I say it, the more likely it is for you to DO it, the way I figure it. It's not a hard request; just introduce yourself to some soap. You know what soap is, right?"

And he laughed at her, a deep belly laugh that shattered the night. "I may just fix it. After all, corpses smell better than you."

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At her words, Torrential frowned, leaning away from her as he took a step backwards, nearly walking into a fern. This wasn't what he wanted. She was an enemy, a Lycan, something that he tore apart into meaty chunks with his bare hands. And yet, she was sitting here, evaluating his worth as a male, as a MATE, even. And he was here, considering her evaluation, and letting himself think about it.

This would not do.

"You want to know another secret?" He growled, suddenly tense, one hand reaching for one of his many knives. "If you were a human, I'd have gutted you the first night we met. Since you're a dirty hound, though, I reckon I should gut you here."

His fist came up in a blade, and he began to advance upon her.

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The move was unexpected, but as soon as she landed behind him, he rolled forwards, expecting an attack from the rear. Eight hundred years of combat had left him with no small amount of experience with knives, especially since they were his preferred method of combat. With a smile at her barb, he ended the roll in a crouch, facing her.

Here was safe ground. He didn't know word games or romantic proposals or discussing mates, but he knew combat. He knew killing, and killing her was the shortest route he saw to achieving his goal.

With a short lunge he stepped forward, looking to imbed the knife in her forearm.

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When she grabbed his wrist, he pivoted with her, keeping her in front of him to make sure she couldn't reach his back. The dagger glanced off of his hardened skin, leaving a trail of black blood. As her knee came up, his forearm moved to block it, and as punishment for the move he thrust his palm out, attempting to hit her in the lower torso.

Because she was so close, he doubted that he'd miss.

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He allowed her to back away, he himself standing to his full height, watching her. "Just like the rest of your kind. Big on words until it's time for action." He cracked his neck with a single roll of his head, feeling the pop and snap of the tendons.

"Are you done toying with me now, Lycan? Or shall I hit you again?" He walked towards her, steadily. "Here's a reason to help me, since you asked. If you don't, I'll beat the ever-loving piss out of you. No questions asked."

His hand twirled his knife. "Where is your pack. Speak."

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He laughed at her insults, thinking that she must have quite a lot of time on her hands if she had all of these just off the top of her head. He smiled, the wide toothy grin expanding across his face. "The difference being, dove, is that I like feeding on others to stay alive. It's my food source; my salvation, true. But it's also fun."

He began to pace, voice raising in passion. "The feel of the skin breaking beneath my teeth, their flailing and struggling for air, for breath, for any sort of life as I take what's theirs, slowly. Steadily. You're saying you don't enjoy the same?"

The setting changes from Twisted Path to Main Street

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Throughout his whole life, Torrential was told that he had a flair for the dramatic.

It was evident in his dress; flowing black cloak that defined 'punk', dark sunglasses that had a hint of the red eyes they hid showing through, body literally strapped with weapons, from head to toe. He was lethality personified, even more so following the death of his ward. His lethal image had turned into one of blind rage, over the past few days, but he wasn't too picky.

The theatrics were also present in the location of his stance. One steel-toed shitkicker propped up on the ledge of a six story apartment building, a thick blunt in between ashy fingertips. With a slight twitch of his lip, he sneered down at the pristine streets. He always thought that this side of town was useless; fucking juvenile, really. Who wanted perfection in their living arrangements? He didn't care for the perfect pavement.

He thought it'd look much better red.

His ears perked up, however, at the sound of off-key humming, and he tossed the still-lit blunt into the streets. Excellent. He hoped the passer-by would put up a fight; something to vent about, at the very least. In the blink of an eye, he hit the sidewalk below with a thud, landing directly in the person's path.

His slow smile revealed his white teeth against his mocha skin, even more bright in the darkness. A smile that revealed his razor sharp canines.

The smile of a vampire.

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Torrential wasn't in the business of ignoring quips, and decided on throwing back a few of his own.

"Ashes? Dear girl, you are a true comedian. Surely someone of your age and clearly limited intelligence doesn't stand a chance, based upon the fact that you immediately resort to racism. If you were all that good a slayer, the prize wouldn't be rare, would it?" He crouched low, making his frame a smaller target for her crossbow.

"But as much as I would like to exchange wit with you, I would prefer to test your reflexes."

With these words, he tensed his thighs and leapt over her, attempting to land behind her.

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As the rod raised, he leapt backwards, deciding he didn't like the sound of the electric hum that emnated from the rod as she gripped it. Through the hair, the rod hissed, buzzing past the tip of his nose in an incredibly close call. Opting for another tactic, Torrential lashed out with his boot, aiming for the girl's elbow as the swing went wide.

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He cursed as the kick was largely inneffective, and moved to plant his feet in case he needed a quick recovery. Far too late, unfortunately, as the sphere exploded around him, the fire licking at his skin. He moved to roll away from the blast, and suddenly found himself swimming through air, molasses in an ocean. With slow fingers, he attempted to pry a gun out of one of his holsters as he seemed suspended in midair.

He cursed. He had to get out of this field, and the only way to achieve that was to crawl his way out of the ring of fire.

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The field lasted far too short, and suddenly - and jarringly - he was flying forwards, rolling in the opposite direction of the woman. Not wanting to see what other nasty surprises she had in store for him and learning his lesson quickly, he fully pulled out the pistol he had loosed while in the sphere-of-molasses-death. With a whirl, he began to open fire in her direction, keeping the line of his body towards her, not showing his chest to her. Three rounds, without much time to aim, flew towards her.

Then he was moving again, circling to his right, looking for an opening.

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"Who says I'm running?"

Even as two bullets managed to pierce his skin, one in the thigh and one in the lower abdomen, puncturing his guts in the lower-left hand side, he suddenly changed direction, charging towards her in a flash.

With a mighty leap, he crossed the distance between them, looking to catch her in a tackle. He could feel the blood seeping from the wound, knew that he didn't have much time before he needed to treat the bullet. For now, though, he would continue to push. He had to end this soon.

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When he had her on the ground, he moved his hands; one to her left shoulder, one to her right, attempting to pin her down onto the ground. With a snap of his jaws, he moved closer, attempting to rip her throat out. He was dying for a taste of human flesh this night, wanting to paint the town red. But he couldn't get at her unless he moved his hands.

With the readjusting of position, though, suddenly he felt a sharp prick in his lower back, causing him to howl in pain. What the fuck was happening this time?