Nero | Angelo

[Nero Angelo]

| NERO ANGELO | HEY, HEY, HEY! C'MON, BABE! ~ .: | Template | :. ~ Vital Statistics: Name: | Nero Angelo | Occupation: | Underground MMA Fighter [ILLEGAL] | Age: | Twenty Years | Gender: | Male | Species: | Demon | Spoiler: Class: | Listed | Height: | Six-foot-two | Weight: | One hundred and eighty-two | Appearance: | Human Physical Details | An aesthetic monstrosity with the celestial looks of chastity and pulverizing enchantment. The toughness, strength, and translucence of porcelain caressed his skin, its resemblance to the translucent surface of a shell that held levels of glassiness, brittleness, and resonance. Lips that are sculpted to be thin always remained nude, holding the soft touch of glaze like clay in a heated kiln. In an unkept manner, vines of wavy snow hair fell gently to just before the being's half-lidded eyes, never being bothered to be brushed or let alone touched. A straight nose is associated with this demon's face, giving a lineal profile that was commonly associated with narrow nostrils and a pointed tip. Cheeks that are very defined, commonly known as 'high cheekbones' played smoothly along this sin's face. The color of dull seagreen blue scraped the irises of this morbid being, heavily with the shovel of nonchalance. Oblivious pigments of seagreen outlined his ebony pupils, the wispy fingers of laziness holding himself hostage from within. Standing at the peak of six foot six, the lanky young man towers those he encounters with pitiful simplicity, his weight of one-hundred eighty pounds creating an intimidating appearance among his body. Underneath the heap of clothing that devours his bare body lies a long torso with pure chiseled definition, toned and without a trace of any body fat. Despite being a demon, this tranquil man of misfortune and pain carries the true appearance of a human, though it's his demonic right arm that proves his unfortunate specie. | Attire | This being's attire is a style that is more so for comfort rather than looks. The twenty year old wears a onyx fleece that loosely clings to his upper body, the order of The Order of Sword organization's bizarre insignia sewn into both of his broad shoulders. The sleeves are messily pushed up to just before his elbows, bunched up in most occasions and rarely rolled up in a proper fashion. The collar of this fleece is popped slightly, leaning outward away from his lower jaw like a wilting flower. Black stitching flanks each side of the centered zipper running up the clothing article, looking like tiny x's when closely observed. A pair of black pants  occupy the lower half of his body then, brown leg holsters hugging each upper thigh. To match the holders, dusty-brown mid-calf boots conceal his feet, three buckles clasping the outer part of the boot. As for accessories, he happens to wear two rings on his right hand: one on his index finger that has an emblem on its face, and another on his ring finger which has a rose design on its face, identical to the designs on his belt buckle. Relations: | Sparda {Unknown Descendent} | Personality: | The Rebellious Sardonic | Spoiler: | The Lazy Ass | Spoiler: | The Perverted Alcoholic | Spoiler: | Hidden Demon | Spoiler: | The Analytical One | Spoiler: | A Spark of Respect from this Sporadic Demon | Spoiler: Sexuality: This demon is open about his sexuality and rather obnoxious with it when under the influence of alcohol. Every now a then a sliver of pervertedness will be revealed when he's sober, but only in his own thoughts. Whenever caught in the crime of thinking of such lustful fantasies, the demon will either rashly deny such 'foul thoughts' or awkwardly admit to them. Preferences: Women. All men preferred women, right? Well, most did. But when it comes to this demon, the lazy bastard has an odd preference: he likes his women classy and innocent. Not one to favor dark hair, he usually takes interest in women with light toned hair, preferably orange or blonde. Men do indeed like curves, hell, so does this demon. But to be truthful, this hellion likes his women small and frail. The whole 'I'm vulnerable please hold me oh Great One' image turns this demon on. Likes: | Being Sang To | | Being A Smartass | | Pissing People Off | | Making People Feel Awkward | | Drinking | | Strawberry Sundaes | | Being Lazy | | Romance Novels | | Reading People Magazines | | Taking Naps On The Daily | Dislikes: | His Devil Bringer | | Imbeciles | | Demons | | Women Who Are Masculine | | Any Transportation Device | | Working Under Others | | Being Bossed Around |

[Nero Angelo]

It said my post was too long..
Had to put it in a separate post ;D

| NERO ANGELO | NOW I KNOW...THIS HAND WAS MADE FOR SENDING GUYS LIKE YOU...BACK TO HELL! Back story: History: "Two thousand years ago, the Dark Knight Sparda turned against his demon brethren and took up his sword for the sake of mankind..." the old bastard preached with animated hands, speaking of the old legends of the Demon king, Sparda, and his rebellion against Mundus. He was the 'savior' of the people, one who played God by sacrificing his life in order to keep the demons from coexisting with the humans. He gave the humans peace and serenity by going against his own kind. Hmph. He sure failed that one, Nero vulgarly thought with a poisonous tone, his eyes leisurely leaking down to his right arm; hiding its existence from the world behind the blindfold of an arm sling and a glove. "Never took those legends too literally..." the then-seventeen year old grunted as he closed his gloved-fist shut, lounging back in a comfortable fashion among the hard, wooden pew that lined the whole sanctuary. As he sat there, he sighed heavily and looked around at all of the civilians. It was an ocean of white hoods: every civilian here wore the same dress code, as told so by Sanctus, the minister and mayor of the shitty old town known as Fortune. Except the naive teen himself, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Nero twitched his lip up in disgust when he made eye contact with the man next to him, holding back a snarky remark that fell along the lines of 'Why don't you just take a picture? It'll last longer, jackass'. Instead, he glanced away with annoyance and uncrossed his legs, crossing them now in the opposite leg order. Church. What a drag. Ever since I was a small infant, I was dragged to this hell hole by the nun to worship a demon who posed as a savior by going against his own brethren and Mundus. A demon? As a savior? Humans...They are nothing but stubborn and foolish. It takes a journey to hell for them to accept and praise their God ...A fact that tickles irony's judgement, of course. It was all so fucking boring. Even though I made my misery evident back in the day, my orphanage nun wouldn't allow me to leave. It was bullshit. But what did I know? I was just a kid. I just wanted to play, and be curious. You know, the things every child wanted to do. At the time, I couldn't understand why such shit like this was so important to everyone. Hell, I still don't understand why. But it's not like I purposely hated the church for shits and giggles. It just bored me to death. I find no belief in our legends. No paradox hidden beneath the cherishing statements of savory. You're probably wondering why I'm even here if I have a mouth full of spitting hatred towards the damn place; in Fortune, every citizen has to go to church. It's a life style, a requirement in order to live here. These bastards take this shit seriously. But that isn't typically the reason why I'm still sitting in a hell hole of a place like this one— "I must salute a man who carries the blood of Sparda... My people, we all know him well, for he has been with us since his mysterious arrival as a fresh-blooded newborn... Nero Angelo. With his blood of Sparda, do not fear! Our Savior has come for us, to deliver us salvation! We must repent and rejoice for the world has not yet come to an end! All thanks to the gift of that young man..." he bellowed, swooping an arm in the ignorant young man's direction. "Cheeky bastard, that you are..." Nero muttered under his breath as the whole town of Fortune chokingly clapped for him; he was no savior. No guardian. More so, the opposite... Though the minister had spoken highly of the young male, he was disassociated with society in Fortune. The citizens hated the kid. All because he was a demon walking among the paths of a human. He was a charlatan in their eyes, and a mass burden among them. Even the damned minister held enmity towards the powerful male; he had power that he wished to have himself. The blood of Sparda. As much as this young male was a blessing to his people, he was a disgusting curse to them all, too. He had a weapon so powerful, right there in the grasp of his hand: The Devil Bringer. As the crowd's clapping pandemonium simmered down, the old fart bowed his head, a wave of fallen heads that were hung low bursting throughout the sea of hooded cloaks. Nero gritted his teeth and pulled his left arm behind him, allowing it to hang over the bench's back for more comfort. Prayer was going on, but the kid never bowed his head once. He saw it as a weakness, bowing to a nonexistent entity. Fools. "Now, come rejoice in the love for Sparda, as my beautiful daughter, Kyrie, has volunteered to sing tonight at this fulfilling Order of Swords Festival!" he called out, the town bursting into a symphony of boisterous applause. "For fuck's sake..." Nero groaned as he hung his head slightly and closed his eyes, pulling his arm out from behind him to put the earphones that had been wrapped around his neck—over his ears. Just as he placed his hand among the bulky ear piece, goose flesh invaded his skin, and the ragged chills racked his rib cage. | | | "Listen to my voice calling you, Pulling you out of darkness. Hear the devil's cry of sin, Always turn your back on him. With the wind you go, Still I dream of your spirit leading you back home. I will give my gifts to you, Grow your garden, watch it bloom. The light in your eyes is an angel up high, Fighting to ease the shadow side. Hearts will grow though having to bend, Leaving behind all things in the end. Listen to my voice calling you, Pulling you out of darkness. Hear the devil's cry of sin, Always turn your back on him." Slowly, the irrevocable voice of thy angel sang a melody so incredulous throughout the sanctuary, that every moist breath was held as such magnificent beauty combusted the ears of every trifling mortal. The timbre of such celestial sounds woke this beast from his deep slumber. Torpidly, Nero rose his head to lift his eyes at the one who was singing, one who he never knew existed. "Listen to my voice calling you, Pulling you out of darkness..." she sang, his eyes locked on purity. This angel... Oh, this angel of delicacy. Of such harmonious beauty... It was at that moment, that the horrid world seemed to...shift. The agonizing heat that boiled and incinerated his insides flooded through his very being like a horrific tsunami, stronger than any heat to have ever flared before; though, this indulging heat, it was a new breed—not a painful heat...but a glowing heat. It was glowing. Everything inside him congealed. This demon's veins shriveled to crisp ash, his russet, cursed blood evaporating into the thick air, the tissues that created the strong fibers of his muscles crumbling as he himself, crumbled at such a sight and voice...such a mesmerizing being. Everything that had built this monster came undone, as he stared at the creature of sheer, preposterous beauty. All the pessimistic, self-hatred lines that held him to his futile life were sliced apart in swift, accurate cuts, like clipping the strings to a herd of balloons. Everything that sculpted him into who he was—his name, his powerful bloodline, the hatred from the town, his demonic, mutated arm, his undying enmity towards his cursed, disgraceful self—disconnected from him in that half second—snip, snip, snip—and freely floated up into the abyss of the unknown, of the freed. A new string held him where he was. No, not one string, but a million. Not strings, but steel cables. A million steel cables all tying him to one thing—to the very center of the universe. The gravity of the earth no longer tied him down to the shameful place where he stood, the earth he hated so much. It was the girl standing there on stage that held him down. That girl who sang to him. That girl who's voice pulled him out of the darkness—Sanctus's daughter. Kyrie. Oceanic eyes of pale glaciers now analyzed her overall appearance, his chest desiccating. Eyes that hydrated warmth like an amber sun in the unchanging afternoon skies, flecked with rays of deep brown. Hair that was a burnt orange shade, pulled back to show her flawless bone structure as her bangs barely fell to the tips of her onyx eyelashes. This angel's skin that was the shade of papaya whip looked ever so soft, like the very folds of velvet. Pale rose-tinted lips, plump and proportioned evenly...he was done for. The cream dress she wore revealed the gentle hourglass shape that held nothing but pure feminine stature, Nero imagining his hands outlining these planes of her shape. This woman screamed delicacy, screamed such innocence. From beneath his flesh and bones, there was a new sound. The only sound that could touch him in this endless instant. It was a frantic pounding, a stuttering throb that ached. What was this strange feeling...? A heart. Heh. The demon had a...heart. Who would have known... Watching in utter admiration, sitting right there upon that pew, he felt like a newborn child, sitting here, staring at her, as if she were his very first inhalation of this new world. "The light in your eyes is an angel up high," this serene presence sang, Nero sitting up now. That light she sang of...it had been her. She was that angel. The last few notes rang from the harmonious strings of a harp, her voice of cordiality echoing as the song came to a breath-taking closure. It was silent. Not a soul gasped for air, even if their lungs screamed and clawed to replenish their bodies with the bittersweet oxygen. And then, in the blackest of blasphemies, she had looked over right at him, her eyes locking on him, and she gave him a smile of such brilliancy. Erupting with whistles and applauds, she flushed lightly—causing his heart to sputter pathetically—and bowed gently. All the while, Nero sat there unmoving—not a muscle spazzed, not a hair rose, not a single drop of gooseflesh coursed his skin of alabaster—while he was being charred alive. "She...smiled at..." he breathed effortlessly, his acidic eyes scouting her exiting the stage. As if intoxicated by the devil's poison, he staggered up from the bench and hastily walked down the aisle, the sanctuary booming with joyful commotion over the wondrous performance that had just folded before them. I have to see her. Glancing back over his shoulder, he caught the shimmering glimpse of her burnt orange hair disappearing through a door that led outside, glancing away and taking off into the outside world of Fortune. | | | After a half hour of searching for this ethereal angel, she could not be found. Though, he refused to give up; he refused to let his heart sink. She's somewhere. He knew she hadn't disappeared forever; though, it was possible. She seemed more like a dream than reality. She was perfection, and perfection only existed in the sweet melodies of cherished dreams. So if he were to lay her down to sleep beside his very own self, close his eyes and dream, would she be there? When he'd open his eyes, would she still be there? Or would she be gone forever, but forever more there in his dreams? - | - These questions were tantalizing his fears, but he pushed on the more he thought of that poisonous smile of hers that severed his airway. He walked up and down every street near the church, surveilled the area atop building roof tops; his angel couldn't be found. Forced to put his search to an end as the skies had been swallowed by the thick blanket of darkness, he roughly leaned against a cement pillar and kicked a foot against the pillar, arms tight across his chest. With his stomach heaving, chest locking, ribs croaking and a heart slumping in defeat, his tortured eyes fell sullen, his facial features brushed with distraught. "To think I actually had the chance. Perhaps she was looking at someone else. Perhaps...—" "Perhaps?" a soft, quiet voice called out from above him. The arch of his neck elongated as his attention was drawn towards the sky, seeing a figure peering over the ledge of a balcony. Due to a porch light being high above this unknown source, all he could see was the silhouette of a figure, so he kicked off the pillar and twisted his body in a graceful motion, stepping back further to see who it was. It was—! Eyes widening with sweltering realization, Nero took a step back in shock, his chest tightening once more. "Kyrie..." The name rolled off his tongue of velvet sheets very gently, as though he had been in some kind of trance. It felt so natural, to have said a name with such...passion. His angel's name. Usually he was cussing people out, telling them to go blow themselves or something. You know, the typical teenage language. But her? No... In response to hearing her name, a dazzling smile grazed her glossy lips, his hollow heart jerking and thrashing around knowing that she smiled due to him. Just then, she pulled away from the ledge and disappeared, Nero's eyes widening as a hand rose to reach out for her. No Kyr— "It's safe, you can come up here!" her genuine voice rang out from above in the softest of whispers, his muscles that were once clenched due to tension now relaxing. A slight grin laced his lips at her words as he began to feel the raw, massive strength thrilling in his limbs, his body preparing itself to launch upward. His eyes and mind moved so swiftly that one step forward was enough. It was simple to position his right foot just so against the packed cobblestone road where the dullness refused to grow, and exert the adequate pressure to send his body wheeling up into the air. He was paying more attention to aim than force, not wanting to miss the ledge. Landing soundlessly on the balls of his heels, he caught himself cooly and hopped down, taking a few steps forward; his angel that was a sheer breath away took two rash steps back in synchronization of his tumbling steps. Anchoring his face downward to look upon her, a light smirk tugged at the corner of his lips; it was slightly amusing how he had to look down to see her, though it was like that for most women when it came to being near this devil. A soft blush coated her cheeks, and her eyes immediately flashed away from his own, shyness perfuming the air. Awkwardly looking off to the side, Nero scratched the tip of his nose with his pointer finger and held back a grin—what were these silly feelings? Lowering his hand to his side, he allowed his eyes to peer at her discreetly; the velvet touch of glimmering, porcelain pearls caressed the skin of this innocent woman, the fair color of alabaster that sun rays could never affect. Lips that were grazed among the being to be soft and gentle, always glistening with a fair petal pink shade, both lips looking ever so delicious. The nose wielded a straight bridge, not too big nor too small to throw off all of her keen features. Cheeks that were deeply flushed by the presence of him, radiating with the soft essence of rose. She was all natural, organically put together by mother nature's wonders. Almond shaped eyes fell soft and warm just then, shifting upward from beneath her dark lashes of ebony, glinting the shade of a deep, amber birthstone. Ga-lump. Ga-lump. Ga-lump. Standing up close now and facing this marveling creation of utter beauty, he was left speechless. As if someone had bit his voice box right out of his parched throat. Paralyzing eyes that mirrored the gems of azure blue widened, the pupils of the beholder shrinking in utter confusion; what now? What to say, what to do? Oh, the awkwardness! Curse him for looking like a fool before this beauty... He was not worthy of her time. Parting his lips to speak, she turned away from him before he could utter a single word out of rash stupidity; her scent still lingered upon his lips from when she had turned, the smell intoxicating to him, and worked much like any drug would as it built up his addiction to her very being... Always turn on your back on him the melody had rung within his had just then, the words laced in her symphonic voice of serenity. Was that...song about— "That song, Kyrie..." Nero started, his hand slowly reaching out to stop her from turning. Her sudden words abruptly stopped this action. "We were five years old, back in the days of pure oblivious minds and innocence. I remember, Nero, the ceremony held at the church the day you—some unknown boy who was brought into the hands of light from the darkness—were introduced to the village. We all just stared," she started softly, her eyes crestfallen. "Your arm...everyone feared it the very moment they laid their eyes upon it. The cruel comments some had made about your existence..." she trailed off, eyes of amber in a somber state as they fluttered over to the demon, who was looking down in a doleful state, his eyes plastered among a body party that separated him from society. "Everyone feared you'd be a nuisance to the village, a hazard who'd walk in the path of destruction. Many voted on terminating you. I remember my father...struggling over what to do. His infatuation with Sparda had always been so great...and then a decedent of his savior arrived out of nowhere; what was he to do? Of course he wouldn't kill you... And I'm very glad he hadn't," her voice of tranquility sang to him, the disgrace slowly looking up at her. Glad...? "As you grew, fear of you grew among the society. But I just stood there, unnoticed by you, a boy who...I had indeed loved since the very moment I laid my eyes upon you." This...no. She had to of been messing with his head... Angels can't love demons; it was frowned upon. "At school, I watched you sit alone, excluded from all of the children around... I came so very close to talking to you, but I couldn't; we were ordered to stay away from you. We would have been punished if we spoke a single word to you... Everyday I wished to speak with you, but I never found the courage to... You looked so alone, so vulnerable and miserable... I wished to accompany your walks home everyday, but I didn't know what you'd think of me... So I wrote that song. And today, seven years later, I finally was able to speak with you through my voice." | | | Kyrie. The only being who existed in my futile world, the only being who could have turned me into a completely different man... She was the rebirth of my new being. The turnover of a the new, crisp leaf. She was my life. My air. My heart—everything that allowed my dysfunctional self to...well, function. When with the magnificent woman, I was oddly, utterly romantic and very affectionate—contrary to popular belief—wanting nothing more but to simply feel her wholeness be all mine, and only mine. I couldn't lose the only being that had breathed life into my lungs, so yeah, I was fucking protective as hell. If a boy was walking towards her? I stepped in front of her and told him to go blow himself. If a boy was talking to her? I pointed my gun at the bastard. I didn't mean...to be highly protective, it was just an instinct. I had always put her safety, humanity, and welfare before anything else. For her, I would go to incredulous lengths to protect her from what I depicted as danger. I always over analyzed situations and overcorrecting myself, or others if I did not feel that someone or something was worthy enough for her. My angel, she deserved the best. I refused to ever leave her side. In the naked eye, we posed as friends. In private, we were lovers madly intoxicated in one another's presence... It was hard being so close to her, and not being able to kiss her in public. I wished to so badly, just to piss off all of the men so that they could see the one person they hated the most—have the most beautiful girl in the village. The beast had the princess of all angels... I wanted them to see that I wasn't the demon they framed me as. If someone like her had loved someone like me, there had to of been evidence that I wasn't to be feared... When there was distance between she and I, and when she was at a place I was not, I was always pacing, always fretting my chaotic mind out, nearly having what she adorably joked as 'miniature panic attacks' when I could't be there to know what was going on and if she was okay.... I seemed to become 'ill' when I was away from her for a very long period of time; I refused to eat or sleep. I did nothing; I just waited for her return. And every time she had come back to me... It was like the very first time I heard her voice, and saw such beauty. She gave me hope in the miserable hell I had lived in my whole life... I had told her time and time again that I loved her. It was the most truthful thing I had ever said. The downside to telling her 'I love you' was that I couldn't express with her how much I truly loved her. The first time or two I told her, it sufficed. It worked beautifully, because it made a pit of warmth flutter throughout her precious, beautiful body. But as my love for her grew immensely, the phrase “I love u” were simply cast in shadow by the amount of my actual burning love... Those three words no longer sufficed to explain the level and deepness of my feelings. My feelings for her...they surpassed the English language, and any language for that matter. It spoke its own language, one full of rapidly pounding heart beats, long and passionate kisses, gentle hands holding one another, and being able to surpass any boundary for that angel. There was no lyrical word to take place of “love” to show and prove to her my actual level of passion. She could write a million songs expressing her love for me, yet I'd just smile at her, knowing that her love was only a sliver of light when compared to mine. Telling her that I loved her was nearly a damn, pitiful shame compared to what I truly felt for this dearly beloved of mine... She gave me hope. Simply because she accepted the monster I was. This demon had sinned beyond all sins: he was in love with an angel. The two were inseparable, their love hidden from the society in fear of rejection and exile. It was told long ago, that if a demon and an angel were to ever share passion for one another, they were to suffer. And here, these civilians—they still believed in such blasphemy. Nero wished not to ruin Kyrie's reputation, so the young man suffered by keeping it discreet when with her during the day. Though by night, every night, he would sneak into her room when the minister had fallen to his slumber, and unite with his loved one. It was a tragic love story, one that should have been published. A demon outcasted by the society, though accepted by the society's beauty. "Nero, you're you and it's you I want to be with. I don't know anyone who is as human as you are." | | | "I'm not interested in your bullshit. So just wrap the goddamn present, jackass," Nero snapped, the man letting out a flamboyant scream as he placed the gift within his convulsing hands against the victorian blue wrapping. "You deserve to b-b-b-be in hell, you foul demon!" the man stuttered as he feverishly wrapped the gift with swift hands. Nero rolled his eyes at the dramatic words that fell from this little pansy ass's mouth, a low grin piercing his lips. "One hundred and twenty three," he darkly chuckled, the sin’s languid eyes watching with accurate precision. "A-a-a-a-all of the citizens here wished you'd just vanish—" "—seventy two—" "What-t-t-t-t are you d-d-doing!?" the man cried, stopping his gift wrapping. "Oh sorry it's uh, a little hobby of mine. I hear these threatening comments so warily often, so I started making a mental list of how many times I've heard such silly things!" Nero smirked, the man's eyes widening. "You sick demon!" "—oh my six hundred and thirty four!" Nero grimaced, his voice highly tainted with sarcasm. With the gift all wrapped up neatly, the man slowly slid it across the counter towards the devil before him, narrowing his eyes. "Y-y-y-y-y-you will be exiled," the man hissed, releasing the gift. Nero, taking the gift, examined it with his serpent-like eyes, seeing if it had been tip top, his horrifying eyes of endless azure pools flashing towards the man now. The owner took a step back, raising his hands to cover his face. "Don't you think that's a little harsh? Killing me because of the way I t-t-t-t-talk?" the demon mocked, turning away from the counter with the gift in his hand. As he was halfway out the door, he heard the man shout from behind. "Go to he—" "—Three thousand and thirty three." The aesthetic demon casually sauntered down the road, the promenade of cobblestone feeling like weightless clouds beneath his heavy feet; could it be due to the momentous event of this day? Was that why he felt so oddly at concord? At the center of his universe, all of the reasons that he walked this earth now came to breathe alongside his flanks, ready to come out and play. It was today, he was sure of it. Having to adjoin his heavenly attendant of God near the out-skirting forests of Fortune when dawn breaks free, he hastily—yet cooly—traipsed through the bustling religious town, the humans' muscles all clenching as they cringed from such a disgrace. Such gestures became a common thing to the young eighteen year-old, and as of right now, bliss had infiltrated his mind; he was too content to even notice the bizarre faces surrounding him. - | - It was cold. Silent. The early morning forest held an absolute chill to it, eerie mist hanging in the suffocating air, turning everything light gold. The damp tree trunks of pine trees jutted from haze, black and severe. Within a few feet, the trees turned to pastel blue and then disappeared entirely in the white fog. It was slowly creeping among the silent forest, chewing on whatever stood in its boisterous way. Picking up his foot as he twisted his body, the leaves crunched beneath his boots as he was now started to walk towards a certain tree, one where the trunk looped into a spiral in an artistic, miraculous way; as he did, he listened intently to his surroundings and watched closely for any signs of attack in any way. Curving the corner, he found his beauty sitting upon the drunk, her long legs sheathed by her beautiful dress of cream swinging gently side to side, a soft and harmonious hum buzzing from her throat. Boy, did she look beautiful... The barely awoken sunlight that managed to break through the canopies above kissed her breathless face, her hair more vibrant than ever as it was not pulled back, but down and falling past her shoulders. Looking down, an innocent smile licked her lips, her eyes warm and ever so welcoming. Having smiled back, Nero held out his hand for her to take and helped her down, pulling her fragile body into his and wrapping his web around her. "Good morning, beautiful," he whispered into her hair, the scent of it intoxicating his mind. She glanced up and laughed, placing her frail hand against his cheek. "Hello, Nero," she whispered under her breath, his whole body racking with internal convulsions from the sound of his name brushing off her potent lips. Looking down, Nero pulled out the box from his coat pocket and held it out for her, her eyebrows knitting together in a worried manner. "Nero I thought we agreed that—" Suddenly, her words were cut off by the taste of his lips on her own, the angel giving in to such an affectionate action and kissing him back, sighing momentarily. As Nero pulled away slightly, he devilishly grinned; Kyrie's cheeks blossomed to a budding rose, causing Nero to grin even wider. "I obviously lied. It's your birthday, love. Of course I'm going to get you a present," he smiled kindly, placing it in her hands. Wiggling her nose in hesitation, her eyes observed the box for a few moments. "You didn't wrap thi—" "Of course I didn't. I can't even tuck your bangs behind your ears, you expect me to wrap that? Expecting so much from me!" he teased, stealing a kiss to her cheek. She giggled lightly and blushed heavily, rolling her eyes. "It's the thought that counts," she laughed nervously, starting to open it. As she did, Nero watched with eager eyes, the cobalt captured in his irises flaring with excitement. "Oh, Nero...." she breathed effortlessly, her voice shaking slightly; there in the box sat a golden necklace. In the center was a ruby shard, cocooned by two golden wings that represented those of an angel's, protecting the shard as the right wing overlapped the left before the shard. Two more wings were present, both spread out at each side of the shard; a four-winged angel. "It's..." she choked out, her eyes pollinated with the spores of tears. "It's beautiful," she meekly uttered out quietly, Nero serenely smiling at her. Taking it from her hands, he classes it around her neck, and together they both cherished the sight of it cushioned amongst her chest, making a home before her heart. Softly, she placed both of her hands around it and smiled, mouthing thank you to Nero. "My pleasure, Kyrie," he whispered cooly, kissing her forehead. "Nero?" Kyrie called out suddenly, recollecting herself. Pulling away by a smidgen, Nero looked at her with cautious eyes; the look in her eyes scared him... "Are...are you sure you want to be with me? You're risking your life by being with me! If we get caught..." she suddenly blurted out, Nero's body tensing from such a silly question. The question knocked the wispy soul right out of his cocooning body, his eyes falling hard; his lips dragged down at their corners. "Nero...?" she whispered quietly, her irises shaking at his reaction. Inhaling deeply, his eyes fleeted away from her. It was silent after the angel spoke words of concern off her frail chest, her eyes falling very hesitant and hazy as she gazed at her evil angel. Nero nonchalantly leaned back against the tree trunk and let a heavy sigh brush off his lips. "Kyrie..." he started, stretching his arm out to grab her tiny hand. She quietly took his in her own two hands, bringing it up to her deathly lips to consume the poisonous scent of his porcelain skin. Fresh. Woodsy. Amber. Hopefully, just hopefully, it would relax her nerves.... What was he going to say to her? "I know.... I'm not like most...of the perfect male humans," the handsome angel choked with struggle. Kyrie shot him a glare, her mouth flying open to interject; he simply rose his free hand to silence her. Her heart pounded away on the inside, her amber eyes narrowing as the threads of curiosity began to sew them closer, sharp among his being. She tried to read his eyes, but that was a failure. This man gave a half-smile to the angel before him, leaning forward again and sighing. This was all making her nervous... She bit her lip. "And I know I'm not...the best person to be with, due to...what I am..." he murmured quietly, his eyes looking down at their intertwined hands. Her gentle, human hands clasped around his demonic hand. Kyrie's eyebrows began to curve inward, worry boiling in her hot, rushing blood. "But..." he clenched his fist tightly around hers; every muscle in her body locked, though they suddenly fell back to melted butter as his grip loosened moments later, and his eyes fell soft. Stressfully, he ran his hand through his soft, white hair, pulling some strands away from his face. A face of a paramour. "...I'm willing to endure the exile. Anything to be with you. And that's why I want to ask you for your hand in marriage," he now said as confidence lathered his voice of calmness, his eyes staring into her own. Her heart combusted. Broke down. Shut off. "I want to ask for your permission if we, you and I, can be together for all eternity..." Elope more so. Can't do marriage, he'd be exiled. His paralyzing eyes stared at her, silent in their sockets. She remained silent upon her standing. Her eyelids swiftly and most gracefully fluttered suddenly, as though she had came back from being in her own little world. His exotic self appeared in her direct view, her eyes widening with each shredding second that ticked away. Realization was finally trickling inside. The eyes of bewilderment that clashed with pure awe followed his exact tracings of his face, and for a moment—upon her sensitive fingertips—she could feel once again, how it felt to be wanted. No reaction remained. It was as if all there that remained was quiet glass. Still and clear. A stone statue that she remained for a very long, hazy moment. A few more minutes passed, and the auburn angel before him continued to stare into his eyes. Searching for the truth, for passion... Nero...Nero Angelo...wanting marriage? He...he had to be human. No demon could love...or could they? It was shocking enough when he had asked her just a year ago to be his and only his, that night in her room when such passionate acts played through... That seemed like the most she'd get out of this guy. Auburn eyes scouted his eyes. Sapphire speckles that lingered in the swallowing depths of the blue ocean... And finally, a small, small sliver of life puppeteered her, as her hands reached out from beneath his—to touch his face, to feel his warmth. "Yes," she breathed, her chest starting to rise and fall heavily. Nero's heart sputtered at such a word. "Yes, Nero. An eternity with you sounds like a blessing," she choked out, rushing, hot tears falling down her smiling lips now. "I love you, Nero," she whispered, her voice tranquil and serene. Her hands now cupped his face. So feather-like had her hands felt against his face, so light and tiny.... She began to see the intensity in his eyes, the way how he looked at her with brute passion, passion that made her see that he actually had loved her... He was so human. More human than he was demon... Closing the space between the two, his gentle, smiling lips made contact with hers, lightly brushing them. She kissed him once before he crushed her teeny self against him in a tight embrace. "Happy Birthday, my love," he croaked in a whisper, his voice shaking from the acceptance she had given him. An angel marrying a demon...who would've thought? Her soft, sobbing body shook in his arms, her tears of bliss staining his clothes. Nero was about to lean in for another kiss, but he immediately rose his arm. And fired. | | | "LET HER GO! SHE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!" Nero snarled creully, enmity rupturing deeply within those tantalizing eyes of his. A myriad of dead Order of Swords guardians plucked the palace's marbled floor around Nero, their black blood leaking the scent of rust within the agonizing air like a poisonous gas. "I obliterated your pathetic welcome committee fairly easily...and... JUST LIKE THEM I'LL DO THE SAME TO YOU!" Nero barked, Kyrie struggling in the guardian's grasp, a whimper being heard as its grip tightened around her rib cage. Her cry made Nero's body convulse with horrid rage. "AGNUS!" Nero barked, his azure eyes sparking with a hint of red as his Devil Bringer casted a deathly glow. The 'holy' angel up in the air knocked his head back and let out a booming, two-toned laughter. "Not to worry Nero, I have no intentions of harming her...yet," the bird-like guardian warned, holding his sword to her neck. "Though...it would appear that your attachment extends beyond friendship..." Nero caught his breath. So they knew all along. They knew of their love. And this...this is why this nightmare was playing out before him. Nero gritted his teeth and clenched the fist of his Devil Bringer. "Therefore, I was ordered to utilize her... If you want her, then come and get her! For I cannot guarantee her fate!" The guardian chuckled one last time, his wings spreading out; Nero winced at the sight of the guardian preparing to take his leave, feverishly running towards the two. "AGNUS!" he snarled, a deep dent forming between his white eyebrows, rancor combusting across his sculpted face like a rapid forest fire, burning whatever stood in its way. Just like his anger flickered like a wild, lurid beast, so did the glow that sizzled and crackled around his Devil Bringer. But, the demon was too low to even catch a grasp upon the two, for the guardian had already flown out of the palace. Coming to a slow pace, a horrid storm played within his eyes, causing the rough seas to become dark and menacing; the irises of tribulation and despondency. A sallow and lurid expression lingered to his face, the emptiness within his dark eyes horrifying to breathe in and scrutinize. And then, his breath was seized away from his own lungs; for days he fought for her. And many more he will until she was in the safety of his arms. But now, now he had to deal with Agnus, Sanctus's top Order of Swords guardian... No. No one can stop me from getting her. No one. "Kyrie, hold on." | | | I lost her. It had been revealed that Sanctus had been infused with the soul of a demon to be revived, to be immortal and have inhuman strength to rule as Sparda incarnate. Cheeky bastard and his obsession with such a lousy legend... Agnus, his scientist and mastermind of the Order's demonic power manipulation was the one who created such a foul thing... I had reached Sanctus and this thing he called the “Savior”, an enormous demon which the Order intended to bring to life using myself and my Devil Bringer’s power. He had used his own daughter as a human shield, and Sanctus was successful in detaining me because of it... He revealed that the Savior required the essence of Sparda to reach full power; he accepted me as a suitable substitute, claiming that I was a descendant of Sparda, and that was why I was cursed with such an arm. I refused to let him use me that way, though. When I was a child, he didn't savor my life because I was a decedent of his idol, no; he savored my life because he knew he could use my bloodline to become stronger, to rule and do just as Sparda had. No. That shit was not acceptable. In my darkness, I was held captive within the core of this incarnate. Boy was that shit disgusting; it was slimy and gushy and...just nasty. In that restraint, I could feel its core draining every ounce of my power, soaking it up like a parched sponge. The more it fused with, the weaker I got. I couldn't even have the strength to stand... But, I had heard a voice in the back of my head, a voice that pulled me out of the darkness: Kyrie. I couldn't give up, not now, not ever. I promised her an eternity together...I promised. And I was no where near breaking that promise! Clenching his fist, the ghastly blue glow of his Devil Bringer started to glimmer, his strength torpidly flowing through his body once again. Nero... Nero's eyes fluttered open, his irises no longer possessing the hue of cobalt; they were now crimson. "KYRIEEEEE!" a blood-curdling scream ripped through his mouth, the blue Devil Bring starting to change its color pigments, segueing into a deep orange-reddish color. Tearing his arm back, a spectral blue demon hovered behind him, his own entity pulling his arm back, as if controlled by Nero; lurching it forward, the two demonic arms tore through the congealed restraint, Nero stumbling out of it with his newfound power. Sparda. Standing from a distance stood the almighty Sanctus, a yellow glow shining from his body due to the absorption of Nero's own demonic power. He was placed before a red orb that oozed out of the wall, an orb containing Kyrie's body within it;  she was brought forward now, only her head probing out of the translucent orb of red. "We had originally intended to use just your arm to form the Savior's core. Perhaps it would have been wise to insure that choice..." Sanctus informed, not bothering to look at Nero. Coming forth, Nero clenched his jaw. "Too late for regrets. Now release Kyrie!" he spat through his teeth, her weak eyes locked on her beloved demon. Looking over now, Sanctus shifted his weight so he could be facing Nero. "Why oppose the Order? I knew your fate was weak... But I always thought you served our wishes," he claimed, raising his sword to Kyrie's neck; she silently winced as the cold metal breathed against her flesh. Nero tightened his fist. "Bad enough you lied about all of this and tried to kill me, cheeky bastard... But what really pissed me off...was using Kyrie!" he snarled, pointing his demonic finger at the girl. She smiled softly at his anger from her capture, revealing his care for her. A low, meaning laugh could be heard from Sanctus just then. "Hahahaha! What is that? Love?" Kyrie's body began to be reabsorbed into the orb, no longer in tact with reality. She was out of harm's way, at least. Shit was about to get fucked up. Nero grunted in reply to Sanctus question. "Look it up, bitch!" Nero snarled furiously. Bending his upper body forward, Nero launched Sparda's entity-like arm at Sanctus, though the bastard had disappeared. Staggering forward, Nero glanced around feverishly in shock. "Where the fuck are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are, you creepy bastard! I don't have time to play your infantile games!" Nero snarled, his eyes narrowing. "You make it sound like you're going to defeat me... Don't be too sure, boy!" his voice rang from behind, Nero twirling around to find Sanctus coming out from under the ground. "I have Sparda's strength! NOT YOU!" - | - Shuffling steps pounded against the ground heavily, a body collapsing to its feet, ragged pantings echoing in the area. "The power of Sparda...WHY WON'T YOU GIVE ME POWER? AM I NOT WORTHY!?" Sanctus painfully screamed in defeat, his hand holding the gaping wound that Nero had just inflicted upon him. Turning around now to face his fallen enemy, Nero began to walk up to Sanctus. "I never took those legends too literally... But I do know that Sparda had a heart. A heart that could love another person, a human... And that..." Nero trailed off, staring at his Devil Bringer before raising it to Sanctus, ready to send him to hell, "—that is what YOU LACK!" Sparda's entity flew towards Sanctus, his demonic hand lunging right through Sanctus heart and crushing it, the man collapsing fully to the floor without a sound. Releasing his clutched hand, Nero's eyes began to shift to their normal shade of blue, Sparda's spirit slowly seeping back into Nero's Devil Bringer, analyzing it carefully with meaningful eyes. "Now I know... this hand was made for sending guys like him back to hell. You know, God, I always hated that you made my arm like this... But now with it I was able destroy this thing... Who would've thought?" he muttered in an understanding, tone, lowering his arm now and looking off to the side. "Kyrie..." Nero muttered as he turned away from the corpse before him, walking towards the orb. "I'm coming...hold on!" he reassured, holding his Devil Bringer back before releasing it and punching through the orb, being absorbed in it as well. | | | .: Kyrie's Final Words [Click Here!] :. Just like that, she was taken from me. Forever. Taken to a place worthy enough to have her celestial being be in. A place known as heaven, a sanctuary only angels could reside in. A place where I was not worthy enough to step foot into, even if a demon like myself had a heart that could love her... I was sent to hell. Locked up in my own personal, agonizing hell. Where had I gone wrong...? Had I not defeated Sanctus quickly enough? I broke her promise. An eternity with her was now abolished; instead, I was now going to have an eternity without my angel...the only being who accepted me in this shitty world... | | | Who was I? Who knew. After her disappearance, I became someone I swore I'd never be...more like some THING I swore I'd never be... A demon. I was a typical demon, looking for beings to kill. To hunt, and enjoy their suffering. I enjoyed watching the life in their eyes cast away, because the life in mine had been drained away from Kyrie's disappearance... I was a being of misfortune and pain. I looked for trouble, seeking out fights just to ease my pain; it seemed as though that another's pain subdued my own. I really was a mess, you can say. I fell back into that foulmouthed, cocky bastard stage, mouthing off anyone who came near me. I become a deadly predator, lurking within the shadow of a blackened angel's wingspan. I killed innocent ones. Killed the horrid ones. I killed for my own amusement. Funny thing was, I knew Kyrie was watching me from above, most likely horrified of the creature I became...and the thought never stopped me from doing my own thing. Simply because I no longer had a purpose in this world. Life was like a weakened whisper after; worthless and inaudible. Never had life kept a promise to me, or kept me safe. Its spiraling fingers of misery were always there to tease me, causing me to trip into the ditches of the mistaken, the worthless, the nobodies. I was a nobody. I couldn't protect the only being who I could love. Therefore, I  was just a breath of shame, held in the tight chest of the wounded. From time to time I would cringe away from this blind world; it was the best I could. It was the most decent choice, and for the better of all. Shortly after killing Sanctus that day, I destroyed the Savior, and went back to Fortune. You know what I did? I blamed all the citizens for Kyrie's disappearance. And so, I murdered every being in that village. Even the stuttering bastard that t-t-t-told me to go to hell. As if. I was already in my hell... Did I ever get caught for destroying the whole town of Fortune? Yeah. But I was recognized for my power. | | | His name was Dante. A member of the O.A.P.D.. I was caught and interrogated, questioned how I managed to destroy a whole town on my own, questioned on why my right arm was covered up, unlike my left. It was a game of Twenty questions, but questions I didn't mind answering; at this point in life, misery sounded so sweet. I just wanted to die, but that was impossible. So, I told them the truth. For a while, these awkward bastards stared me down with confused expressions; they even brought in a scientist to look at my arm. He confirmed my nature, and said I had to be put in the hands of a group known as T.A.P.T to be Listed, whatever the fuck that meant... So I was brought to a city called Omoi Ame. Huge city, never had I seen so many disgusting people. Their attire? Made me vomit in my own mouth. But, anyways. I was given to the T.A.P.T and registered into the system, now a Listed citizen of Omoi Ame. Dante had been with me the whole time, causing me to grow suspicious. I was in no need of his purpose, so why had he clung to me like a vexatious shadow sewn to my feet? And then after my registration, I found out why. "Look, kid... We could really use you. Your arm? That's a gift worth giving right there..." he commented; Nero sneered in his directed and grunted, kicking back in his chair. "If that's what you think," Nero muttered, folding his arms over his chest. I lost everything because of this arm... Dante leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, staring Nero down. "This is going to be between just you and I, kid. So listen up. I'm going to give you the title of an O.A.P.D Monsieur... Back in the day, a Monsieur was...more so a knight, one that was used for rare and impossible tasks. I can't rank you due to no experience whatsoever, but I can give you that at least. I can't pay you, or have you work with others—" "Good, I hate working with humans..." Nero injected, cutting Dante off. He just chuckled at the kid's sharp tongue. "Perfect, then. Therefore, I'm secretly asking you to work for the O.A.P.D, to work more or less undercover. You arm right there? That arm could be of good use to us for certain cases that the citizens can't know of, cases you could work on. Not typical crime. But deathly cases that involve deadly species. Every now and then we get one that's hard to handle. Sure, sure, I'm illegally using you pretty much. But who cares about. If you agree, you cannot tell people you work for the O.A.P.D, because sadly kid, due to your past, you'll ruin our reputation." Nero sat there and leaned back further in his chair, registering the offer within his mind. "What do I get out of this besides disposing a 'hazardous' object to this city?" Nero pointed out, narrowing his eyes. Dante stood baffled for a moment; kid was smarter than he looked. "We'll give you a free house that we will pay for, and provide you food. Just serve our wishes and we'll provide you with food and shelter." Just serve our wishes. Once again, Nero was back to being someone's bitch, just like he had been for Sanctus... He had no other choice; how else would he get a place to stay, and food to eat? Besides, killing was something he enjoyed...sadly. Sighing heavily, the demon rose his hand and shook Dante's. | A Deal With The Devil |

[Ivory]

Lol Friday you were struggling so bad with what to write for the intro to her birthday. TFS was perfect for the intro xD

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[Nero Angelo]

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Fuck the history.
I'll deal with that later.

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