Blood ran down his body, his cloak tattered and torn. Juste fell onto his back, his hair a tangled mess, mesh with blood and ash. Blood dribbled onto his lips, his gasps gurgled. He couldn't breathe. He began to cough, hacking his lungs in the process. The familiarity of Emma began to seep into his mind. "Ash and blood, a sea of darkness..." he muttered, trying to breathe. Ooc: I like Deathsight's explanation better! '>.>
Ooc: Juste (me) thought it better to silence the Ringmaster. Apparently, peaceful solutions always lead to war. He's killing all the humans, we're all into action, and so on. So, all you need to do is fight vampires (and break the blinding spell). Anything else? Thinking the lights went out, he drew his saber. He saw a small haze. He brought the sword closer. Juste's eyes became dialated, the light blinding, destroying the darkness. He shouted in pain, fell to his knees. In moments, he began to see again, his crimson eyes now blood shot. He arose slowly, hunting down the vampires with such grace. Whip and sword worked in harmony, slaughtering the vampires equally. "A sea of darkness, wrought of ash and blood... The River of Styx is my destiny, and is, too, my fate," he mumbled as he fought on, saving as many people as he can. He was hurt. Broken, even. He fought on, coughing up blood, running about, prancing until his knees gave out. He fought on his knees. Far off, out of the tent, he saw Emma. She looked familiar. He dropped both weapons, and like a child, crawled to her.
I can't breathe! Juste thought, his pale white skin turning pink, his hand unclenching the whip slowly. He began to kick, the steel plating on the heels aiming for the groin. This began to shake loose a few orbs full of holy water. When they fell down, the steel plating cracked the orbs. As the recoil of his foot came, he caught the orb with the top of his foot, tossing the orb into the air. The two others fell down to the giant's feet, burning them severely. Before the whip fell, he caught it again, held his breath and counted to ten. The orb smacked the giant in the head, melting the vampire. He felt, and sprinted, releasing his sword as he continued to kill the vampires. Ash and blood, a sea of darkness... was all he heard in his thoughts... He gritted his teeth, gasping for air. He was tiring and a few ribs were broken, shattered.
Juste felt like he was being sucked into a vacuum. His only hope was to keep his momentum in a constant state. With a mighty roar, he sheathed his saber and spun around, his whip dancing all about constantly. He fell into a crouch and rose back up slowly, keeping his momentum built up. He felt like he was being compressed with normal gravity rather than with the normal gravity pressing against his constant moving body. He continued, keeping the vampires at bay.
"Oh, I'm human... Just a whole new species," he said through gritted teeth, already running about, swinging his whip about, slaying the vampires with his sword. Ashes and blood danced about his blurring feet. He slid, kicked off the bench, sliding on one knee, whip and sword working furiously about.
A dark, grim smirk crossed his face, his lips parting for a chuckle. A jest. "Humans are just as filthy. We're not superior, nor are they. I slay on impulse, not logic or sense or humanity. I was built to kill. I want to stop, but I am nothing but an automaton made of family beliefs. Such as you, you greedy son of a *****," He swung the whip, swinging high above the Ringmaster, tearing the hat in two, and hitting a random vampire, turning him into ash. The whip reversed, cutting the hat again, only to hit another vampire. "See."
He cocked an eyebrow "Test my patience and your throat will torn away," Juste threatened, anger apparent in his eyes. The sword's glow even wavered from dimmer to brighter with his rising anger. The whip thirsted for blood, for ash. "I am Juste Belmont, Legendary Vampire Hunter... and to be quite frank, I do not hold this title with much honour." The sword flung from its scabbard, shining ever so brightly, almost burning out the eyes of the undead. Its luster never feigning.
A crackle and pop sounded. The crimson eyes of Juste Belmont were alit with rage. "Even humans sicken me... I would prefer to be a vampire than the same species as yourself!" Juste muttered, preparing to release his blade... But the results would be devastating for any onlookers. Vampire Killer pulsed in his hand. "I may be a Hunter, but atleast I honor the undead with some respect befitting an enemy," the saber was halfway out, releasing a bright light.
"Vampires have the ability to seduce and hypnotize their prey, do they not?" Juste asked rhetorically, not amused by the Ringmaster's argument. He stood there solidly, arms crossed. "Revealing them to the public will cause uproars and rumors. You, too, may also lose your hold if you're not careful. If you were wise, you would've left this in the dark..." He shook his white mane, apparently frustrated.
The transylvanian arose from his spot, and silently stalked the tent's premises. He was, after all, a hunter. What more could he do. He appeared behind the Ringmaster, and gently whispered into his ears "What are you doing, you fool?"
Juste watched as the Ringmaster arrived, showing off his bravado collection of vampires. He eyed the whistle all the more, noticing a sliver of a glint shoot about. Since Belmonts are humans attuned to magic, he could easily tell what was magical and which was not. He shook his head. "Vampires are meant to be secret... If humans find out..." He trailled off, eyeing the Ringmaster, now, in particular. He certainly was odd, magical, but not a vampire. Something was amiss to the transylvanian...
His anger became as apparent as a knife in the heart. "Obviously a hunter of your stature knows nothing of respect," Juste blurted out, his white gloved hands clenching into fists, "I can see there's a circus of vampires. I know who are vampire and who are not. This is not some random gathering. It is something more. My guess could be a mass feeding for mating season... or..." he trailed off, letting his words hang ominously in the air. War... he thought grimly, not appreciating the thought to kill more vampires. Something in him wanted to be nothing like his ancestors. He wanted to believe he was different, but Juste felt worse. Either he shames the family and its name, or himself and everyone around him. The Belmont was beginning to break down. He turned. "Please, just make it swift if you plan to slaughter them. Remember, though. What if they were family? Keep that question in mind..." He disappeared through the flap of the tent...
Juste's intrigue became anger. He kept the sharp retort to himself. "No, I am here to figure out what the hell is going on. Do you?" He asked, his english flawless. There was a hint of a Transylvanian accent in his voice.
A white brow shot up in intrigue as he noticed Rik's stare. He recognized a Belmont. "Jesus, can't any damn Hunter keep things shut?" He muttered with false anger, waiting for Rik to reach him. He needed information and he figured this Hunter would know something.
Juste made a high-pitched whistle, meant for only the hunter he saw passing through. Rik. He leaned casually against a wooden beam near the tent, watching as both vampires and humans alike past through the flap. He shook violently, keeping himself from attacking vampires.
He lifted the ticket in his hand, reading it. It seemed plan, but curiously different. As if it had a purpose. He shoved the ticket into his coat pocket, his coat's tail caressing his ankles. 'Twas ancient, this cloak, for it was passed down since the first Belmont, the first vampire-slayer had a son. Generation after generation until Juste was born. He held the ancient cloak, the powerful tool of his ancestors. This cloak was not the ordinary rag you would see in Hollister or Hot Topic, it was a powerful, Transylvanian artifact! Juste turned around to see several vampires in the crowd. He knew which were human, and which weren't. His Belmont Paranoia was still high. They were always ready for battle. Born and trained to be. He saw the flash of a Hunter's item, smirking to himself. A grim smirk. Vampires will die this night, he knew.
OOC: roflmfao, thanks XD (I'm such a dumbass '>.>) Juste walks into the carnival, his face grim, his clan's memory inbedded into his brain. He wished he could fight the impulses, to settle problems peacefully. He was broken. He walked farther in, releasing an aura of sorrow, of pity, and of ancient rage. His crimson eyes began to glow with an inner flame, accepting any challenge, his tears not slaying the fires. Juste stood still, near the giant tent, taking in a deep breath. He waited.
OOC: Lol, no problem. Like I said, it was a moment. I truly just wanted to test out if he was acceptable or not. (Plus, I couldn't think of a weapon really x.x) Anyway, yea, atleast I know there's a plot now, dammit :P Anywho... Recap? :P
Name: Alucard Age: Unknown Race: Vampire Clan\Bloodline: Tantoper Weapon: Darkness- Although not a visible weapon, Alucard can summon weapons of all kinds, instantly enchanted, with his blood. Pic: Personality: Cold, sardonic, a wry sense of humour. History: Alucard... He is as ancient as the night, they say. Perpectual, the strongest. Maybe the first. But who knows? Only Alucard. He holds many secrets, he worships the Dead Gods from the ancient times, whose names are forgotten. He still performs their dark arts, in secret or in audience. Alucard, as ancient as the stars and moon, still walks the Earth, vengeance in hands. Alucard is one of the most powerful vampires in existance, hungering and lusting for power and blood. He seeks his slayer, for he is now ressurected from his last ritual performed before his death. He must now suck the blood of humans, sacrifice vampires, and regain his lost and forbidden strength. Played by: Sessamaru Ooc: Sorry, having a Castlvania: SotN/Hellsing moment x.x
The water parted by the presence of wind. Rising from the cylinder was Leon. His hair was white, his amber eyes green. Runes marked his face. Parting from his back were white wings, huge and beautiful. A halo appeared before the wings arch. The greatsword, once wide and powerful, was unlocked by a black diamon now infused in the blade's center. It was a masamune. The wings fluttered once, twice... Thrice! Wind raised the water into a wall, into a barrier. He took one step forward, holding the blade as if preparing for a quickdraw. The blade had no sheathe and blood poured from his gripped hand. "This left hand of mine is the sheathe for the sins that this blade-of-right has caused," He muttered, his white hair growing longer, his voice deeper, his skin paler, and the runes darker!
