Tempted to use Ladonna or revamp Ariadne
@fukuro_zoku: Her origin post
Three years ago on the night of May 15th, a child was born in a tiny mountain town in Italy. It was a tumultuous night, soaked with torrential rain and consequential mudslides. The stars were brighter than they'd been in years, somehow fighting to shine through the cloud cover. The planets had literally aligned in the sky above a small cathedral tucked into the shelter at the base of the mountain.
A young woman, nameless, homeless, penniless, had shown up on the step to the cathedral, begging sanctuary. The Father and nuns stationed there gave her the solace that was needed and were present for the delivery of her child. Upon arrival, the golden-haired girl let loose a shrieking cry before being toweled off and handed to her mother.
Cradled protectively in a mother's arms, as all children should be, the young babe new contentment and safety for brief moments before, from some freak occurrence of nature, her mother passed away.
The babe, christened Ladonna, grew at an exponential rate. With their deep-rooted faith and surprisingly vast connections, Father Gino Esposito and Sister Mary Donna managed to track down buried religious texts that the Vatican had attempted to hide. They spoke of a child, born among extraordinary circumstances. Gold of hair and pure of heart, without parents past her first hour of birth. A gift hidden in the body of a child.
Simultaneously a gift and a curse, this twice-blessed child would either be the beginning, or the beginning of the end. Everything else remained unclear, hidden from their knowledge, hidden from any divine sight that any had once mustered. The marking on the nape of her neck did not reveal anything. No records of it were found anywhere, all it did was add to the mystery of who and what this child was. What did the nightmares that plagued her every night reveal? Were they sights, portents of the future, or something else entirely? Only time would tell. The question was...how much time was there?
"Get out, child. You must run, flee for your life, flee for everybody's life." Ladonna had been hidden in a run of the mill orphanage just three weeks ago after the portents of impending doom had grown stronger day by day. The young girl, now the size of an eight year old with the cunning mind and intellect of somebody years older simply looked up from the table where she was drawing pictures.
The nun who was speaking to her looked down at the paper, immediately taken aback. Most children drew pictures of their families, their pets, their toys. This...child, this creature, she drew extravagantly detailed pictures of what looked to be a Heavenly war. Angels clashing against demons and man against fellow man. In the center stood a small figure engulfed with golden light, tinted black at the edges; Ladonna.
"They're coming, girl." The soft voice of the nun was not comforting to the child who knew that the world was on her shoulders, yet did not know a single reason as to why. All she new was that she was different. She learned fast, the grew fast and in the short amount of time that she had been alive, an insurmountable weight had been put on her shoulders. Ladonna did not know what the exact reason was, she was not privy to the prophecy nor to the fact that if those who were after were successful in killing her, it would only make Lucifer's return that much easier. All she knew was that destiny had allotted her this job and she supposed it was up to her to do her best to adequately fulfill it.
Wearing a pair of jeans and a dumpy bright pink sweatshirt, her hair in pigtails and a backpack strapped securely to her back, Ladonna took to the streets that she knew like the back of her hand. Equipped with all of her worldly possessions stored in that backpack and the incredible intuitiveness that she had been bestowed with, her journey truly began. Trust nobody had just become her life motto and her only goal to make it through this ordeal alive.
Alexander laid motionless as the snow flakes cascaded onto his face, slowly melting away upon making contact and seeping down into his cloths. Dampening the wool material and plummeting his core temperature even further into hypothermia. His journey seemed it would be cut short and halted before it even began. His death would have truly been inevitable at the hands of nature, if not for the extended arm of a unknown man grasping and tugging at Alexander's shirt with almost no effort. Dragging him along the frost without any expression of concern. Still, he was limp and lethargic, slipping in and out of consciousness before falling into a deep slumber not unlike the coma he had experienced days earlier.
Visions of his father haunted his rest. The fist fighting vigilante known to Gothic only as Black Paw. The path he paved towards heroism was a fate that Alexander had shunned and avoided with all his heart, but that's the extraordinary thing about destiny. It was like a raging river. No matter how hard you fight or how much you resist, you will eventually be at it's mercy.
His father's proud grin was beaming to the young crusader's face, proud of what he had become. Soon, the figure of his sister had appeared in his dream and joined their parent. Her face contrasted that of their elder's joyous smirk, emanating ferocity and solidarity instead. Unfazed, but forever changed of the killing avenger she had become and embraced. It dismayed Alexander, a feeling of hopelessness consumed him as he feared that she may never turn away from her fatal desires.
Together, they marched towards the newly christened Dark Vengeance with wide open palms and slow moving lips. His father was the first to speak, "You are that which you hated for so long, Alex. You are what I always wanted you to be. You cannot mold your future, but only accept it."
His sister, Dragonfang, followed suit without any hesitation. "You let them take me as a child, but now you expect to save me? There is no redemption for you, Big Brother. There is no coming back from this."
Dread filled Alexander as he remained paralyzed in his own nightmare. Despair had immobilized him in the darkness while the Rook duo continued to limp their way to him. As they grew nearer, he finally awoke from his hell. Sitting upright in a traditional eastern bed that creaked at his sudden movement. Sweat was pouring down his skin as he gasped, his eyes darting around the room to ensure that he had truly escaped his torment. Everything had seemed normal with the exception of the shelter he had been resting in. He was fully aware of his loss of concsiousness and knew that he was not acquanted to his current surroundings.
His vision was still a tad hazy and blurry as well, but he could make out the approximate dimensions of the room and two figures marching towards him. Each one of their steps were silent and nothing about them made any sort of noise. Like shadows they grabbed Alexander's shoulders and drug him off the bed and onto the wooden floor. For a split second, he believed that he was still living in the anguish that had envisioned in his sleep but quickly dropped the notion as the pain he felt falling off the bed was all too real.
Still too exhausted and worn to fight or even ask questions, he made no objection or protest during the whole ordeal. His thinly clothed knees were scraping across the timber flooring, but he took the time and withstood the discomfort to measure how long the distance was to their destination once he had gained the energy to make his escape if the situation facilitated it. Shorter than he had expected, the two escorts dropped him in an unknown room. Alexander laid on his stomach, simply breathing with open eyes and relishing the warmth of the room. Grateful that he was away from the storm. He couldn't tell if anyone was in the room with him other than what was to believed to be his two captors, so he spoke in a general, but exhausted tone.
"What….Now….?…..Death? You're far….too late….for that." His haggard breaths interrupting almost every word.
Gone was the straw hat, Asian and conical, from his person. No longer was his head adorned by it, and yet, the mystique, the enigmatic appeal from its cast shadow remained. Around him it hung, hung like a force of nature so prominent, so authoritative in its power, that some were left stunned, intimidated, and others in wonderment. Footsteps, bare and dripping with an air that was cool, that spoke of control, rippled against the surface of hard, dried wood. The air was warm, it was moist, and it was nurturing. Different from its sibling, the air that lurked beyond the monastery's gates. There the air was cold and unforgiving, too eager to leave on the flesh of men, frost, and in their bones, freezing bits of ice rock.
And where the sky was unseen beyond, left unclear by the haze of unending snowfall and fog from ice drier than normal, within the monastery's walls, the sky was open, a mesmeric shade of azure tattooed with clouds that drifted here and there. The air did not freeze the nostrils when breathed in, and the scent of wood and of earth was great. Here, one's breath did not mist during speech, it was Reisho. The footsteps echoed with greater prominence, lingering in the air a second longer as if to remind those who dared forget that Ishin was to arrive. His sword, a Japanese nihonto whose blade was hugged snugly by its scabbard, was held in the embrace of the black sash that festooned around the waist, his men's kimono.
His hair was not graceful. This was no waterfall of liquid ebony or obsidian. His hair was long, some strands curly, others are not as much. It was black, and told not to drape over his shoulders and frame his features by that which held it, styled it in a men's ponytail. His visage was rough, touched by an expression of stoicism and a confidence colder than ice. They held a mystifying yet roguish character, his features. And his eyes, a shade that was ever-changing in color, were predatory and wise. His senses, supernatural and cultured, flared, told him of the active chi reserves of he who had sought them in the first place, and told him, Ishin, that the man was alive and well. Yet his expression, it remained unmoved, resolute.
A turn to the left, and with bows and silence, and then a question from the one who hailed from lands beyond their monastery, he was welcomed into a room. Ishin was tall, and sculpted to the proportions of an Eastern Spartan. And he, he moved with the flair of such. Of Leonidas, and of Sun Tzu, of Ares, and of the warrior spirit itself. He paused, three feet from the man who, from the floor, rasped his questions. And Ishin responded, the poise, the measured and commanding timbre of his voice, deep and low, hanging alongside the exotic notes of his Japanese inflection. 'What now?', the man asked. "You came to our gates of your own free will. So, you tell us".
Still laying on the floor completely drained of energy, he realized how aimless his question was. Only now did he finally understand that he made his journey to Reisho and it was not just another fantasy. Alexander felt justified in his questioning, however, as he had little hope that anyone still resided in the settlement of wisdom. He thought over the question that the unknown voice had inquired about, running possible scenarios through his mind that varied depending on the response he would give. Claiming that he just happened to stumble across the group was out of the question and held no believable evidence to support this ludicrous lie. There was no more convincing justification than the honest truth.
Stumbling to his feet and off his bruised knees, the former Gothic Angel breathed heavily and shook himself back into a state of attentiveness, unsure of how the shady group would respond to his actions. His normally flawless and honed physique was showing obvious signs of abuse and improper sustainment, but was also trembling at the brain's commands to act. Each movement of his muscles caused the build up of lactic fluid to pump like battery acid through the entirety of his anatomy, but still he pushed through the soreness.
"I….I am a son of Gothic who failed his people…."
He hesitated before continuing, allowing his strained trachea and worn down vocal chords to rest for a moment.
"I came seeking to strengthen myself. Learn about myself. But not for myself. For those I care about."
Another pause, pondering if he should mention who it was that had given him the explicit directions to Reisho or even the complicated situation that was the catalyst for everything leading up to this point. Finally straitening his tender back and lifting his head, his ebony and hazy eyes met with his interrogator.
Alexander was in awe at his calm, yet harsh demeanor. The stranger's disheveled disposition was cast in the shadow of his features that spoke of a man that had seen the world a thousand times over and knew more than the younger could ever hope to imagine. Clad in traditional eastern attire that Alexander had never personally seen before gave off the impression of wisdom and homage to heritage. Thinking now, perhaps mentioning the adolescent Knightfall may not illicit the most appropriate response from the stern man, but it seemed best to disclose everything now before the conversation could move any further. Even if it meant that the young Rook would have to clash his damaged body against the razor sharp edge of his opposition's flawless katana.
"Marcus Antonius Knightfall sent me with almost no detail to what I would discover here…."
His last sentence was firm as he awaited what would happen next. Aware that Mark wasn't the most friendly teen among those that he called allies. The healing laceration across the left pec of the Gothicmite was a testament to that. Perhaps throwing in his cards with Nox may not be the best decision he could make….
The man, disheveled and malnourished, spoke of Gothic City, and of being the forsaken metropolis' son. One who had broken the hopes and dreams of his city's people. He seemed to rasp every word, this son of Gothic. His voice was weary, his mouth dry, and his lips cracked from the cryogenic climate of this fabled mountain. Ishin listened, measured calm and an earnest visage held by his features. His fingers, they coiled in instinct, around the hilt of his nihonto, yet his body language spoke of no violent intent, no desire for combat. It was instinct, nothing more, nothing less. "A man learns much about himself when faced with opposition", the former Impero began, notes of wisdom in his voice.
"In climbing our mountain, you learned much of your own limits. The fortitude of your mind and body. That despite our mountain's insistence on stripping you bare and leaving you to die with the weaklings who have failed to overcome it, you managed to defy it". Ishin paused, listening to this son of Gothic's words, his revelation of the identity of the man, or rather the boy who informed him of the monastery's location. "I know of the Knightfalls", the Eastern Enigma remarked, memories of his severed friendship with Quintus Knightfall manifesting in a warrior's mind for but a moment. "But I did not know that a Marcus Antonius existed", he made clear rather bluntly. He knew not of the Knightfall prodigy yet it was Marcus who was responsible for Reisho's restoration.
"You seek to strengthen yourself. You will strengthen your body, mind, and spirit. You will sharpen your skills and your senses. Your body will grow accustomed to the hardships of this mountain until you can climb it with authority. You are not the first to seek our aid and you will not be the last. But I will demand of you what I demand of everyone who seeks our teachings", Ishin paused, his gaze never wavering. "You will speak of us to no one".
This had been the first time in a long while that the Vengeance successor had felt inexperienced and naive when it came to the matters he had believed himself to be an expert in. Only a fool sets his eyes soley on pride. A quality that had been the folly of many and Alexander seemed to have been falling for the same undoing. The senior across from him motioned his hand towards the single yet threatening blade at his side. The gesture made the young vigilante uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. He was unarmed and lethargic while the senior looked ready and primed at any given moment. The biggest reason was far simpler though. Alexander was intimidated and afraid. A quality that he hadn't genuinely sensed in years.
He listened delicately to every word that glided through the master's mouth, absorbing every detail that was given. Alexander was slightly relieved at the failure to be acquainted with Mark, hopefully staying on better terms with what seemed to be the leader of Reisho. Quintus on the other hand, was a Knightfall that Alexander had only heard about or perhaps investigated on unrelated cases. Their relationship was a mystery to the young Rook, but he had hoped it had little bearing on his request to be trained.
He bowed slowly and deeply while placing an open palm to a closed fist, as was customary with everyone Alexander had trained with. Symbolizing his willingness to submit himself as student. The open palm was an expression of his readiness to learn spiritual enlightenment while the closed fist indicated his eagerness to strengthen his body.
"I understand. I am ready."
He held the position for as long as it took to be acknowledged by his new teacher. Despite being completely obliterated of all strength and energy, he was hungry to begin his training and start anew.
Whooh! Let the training begin!
@_vex_: (I lied, I just had to switch accounts, LOL)
Before him stood his most recent pupil, a son of Gothic, a defender of a city forsaken by its own government. And where he began as one too brittle for the mountain's harsh disposition, now the man was one of strength and fortitude, a warrior whose resolve was as resolute as his devotion for the greater good. He felt a sense of pride, Ishin. His gaze, ever-changing in its hue, held the Gothic son in his line of sight while Keijijo clansmen, lined in ceremonial position for the ascension of an outsider into one who had learned and mastered their secrets, held a collective gaze of respect. Ishin was a minimalist, and his words would be few, yet his gaze, his gaze spoke all the words of validation needed.
There was no subtle gesture, no inclination of the head in respect and cordiality. No, an outsider who succeeded was deserving of more. Ishin therefore, bowed. His courteous communication, sincere and genuine before his previous posture returned to him. "Take pride in your achievement, son of Gothic. And never forget", he paused, "That to the outside world, we, the Keijijo Clan, are to be forgotten". It was a simple request, the only request. That they remain relatively unknown, beyond the reach of most, beyond the radar of the outside world.
Alexander stood proud and noble clad in fitted ebony armor and cloth that seemed to meld into his own shadow. His master standing before him as he did weeks ago with the same disciplined gaze. The body of Gothic's dark angel had been honed and synched with his spirit to levels that he thought impossible before he began his grueling training with The Keijijo Dragon.
The clansmen that had wandered around the training pits during his exhausting education now stood with him as he had become more than the feeble man who had nearly died alongside the mountain. Now he was a man with the ancient skills of utilizing one's own chi to enhance movements and strikes, applying the signature technique of The Reisho Monastery to pick apart his enemies from the outside and eventually working his way in.
Alexander bowed more elegantly and with more dignity than he had ever done so in his life to any master. He held Ishin in the highest regard and his teachings with the upmost respect. Keeping in mind everything he learned with the same goal in mind. To bring justice to Gothic and her children. Then, his teacher did something that completely took the Vengeance Knight by surprise. He himself bowed.
"Thank you, Master. I will never speak of the clansmen nor of you or Reisho, but I will never forget what it was that I discovered here and what you instilled in me."
With the final words of gratitude and praise, Alexander took a few slow and humble steps backwards before turning towards the adobe's exit. A little sad that his time at the mountain top had come to a close, but his journey was far from over. It was the first life changing step to reclaiming his life. Making his way out of the mysterious, but noble settlement, his eyes gazed over the mountain that he had barely climbed. A smile creeped across his face as he realized that he could conquer this obstacle with ease.
@_vex_: No worries, it was a really fun interaction. Your writing has improved leaps and bounds from what I remember. You, Jack, and Shootout are probably my favorite RPG'ers right now. Awesome characterization and really, really smooth writing with its own distinct flair and swagger.
@_vex_: No worries, it was a really fun interaction. Your writing has improved leaps and bounds from what I remember. You, Jack, and Shootout are probably my favorite RPG'ers right now. Awesome characterization and really, really smooth writing with its own distinct flair and swagger.
Same person lol
"The Shangri-La of Martial Arts."
So mother refered to it. When she sat me down after I finished Dr Grozny's super-science curriculum. "You will find your next mentor in the East.", she said. "The best warriors known to man.", she said. "They will teach you how to use your body, the feeble and soft thing, to wage war.", she said. I just listened, fighting the urge to hig her. I fought well.
I am taking pieces of her monologue out of context, but that has been the longest time we have ever talked in person -- and then she immediately sat me down on the Transsibirskaya Magistral with nothing but a leather rucksack and a dictionary, and had me on my way to chase a myth. I was barely out of puberty then and she didn't even twitch at the sight of me, nothing, no affection. "You have grown." She took herself as nothing but a-- a damned handler.
She wanted the impossible of me. She wanted that or death.
So I performed to her expectations, hoping to satisfy her. Weeks went by in a blur and the next time I regained a sense of myself, it was during the climb up the steep mountain range of Reisho's supposed location. I just remember the singing cold that made blood thick and the demeaning isolation that made men cruel.
Never-the-less, I continued in this witch-hunt. I continued when my sherpas lost their sanity to the cold, cannibalizing one another in the snow. I continued when the air was thin and fire refused to grow, denying the existence of my mortality. I continued past the claws and fangs of snow leopards-- past the straining stigmas they inflicted, refusing to acknowledge the creeping and clinging possibility of my failure.
Only the worthy could find the monastery and I am the best of mankind. The best warrior in the West, without doubt or remorse! I must be allowed to locate this place, it's my destiny...I must...
I ascend past the limits of my body, the built fatigue within my muscles, and force myself ever higher towards the heavens. But I realize even the best of men weren't built for heaven. The enviroment too greedy, the body too demanding. My head lighter than a feather, I let go of my endeavor and all Earthly tethers. And at last I feel...free.
Snow take me.
My death foiled by mysterious forces, I awake lying at the base of the mountain.
- Reisho Mountains;
"I am the going to succeed. I the best. I am-- OH DRAT!"
Damien exhaled a solemn mantra as he scaled the glacial rockface up the mountain. The surface was unstable and deceitful, the rock covered in thin ice in certain places and thus made his gloveless climb an even greater challenge and forcing him to lose ground many a times such as this. Yet he always managed to recover at the expense of some skin and blood.
"I hate climbing.", he concluded, having reached the edge of the cliff. The most difficult thing about the inhospitable conditions around the Monaster was that their sheer vigor cut and bent the landscape constantly. Thusly there was never a certain path up the titanic mount, one had to make their own path certain to reach the top.
Hands of torn, freezing skin and broken nails gained hold of safe ground. The most difficult thing were the conditions, so he thought prior to witnessing one of the predators that also seek the esoteric land, the nexus point of metaphysical energy known as Reisho Monastery. It was...something. A dark spirit, an Oni. Tall and lumbering, it's eerily black substance visible clearly in even in the thick veil of snow.
With sneering silence it had lifted the Frenchman by the neck and flung him into the snow sheets. The assassin's body had grown immensely from the last time he was here and he was no longer a victim of cold or thin air, but the principle didn't apply to getting the thin air knocked out of him.
The monstosity charged and Damien swiftly sought to retaliate with one of his swords. Wailing, the Techno-Talon, it's slash accompanied by a faint electronic hum that sought to split the thing in half as it had so many times before but instead it passed through and left it's owner open for the polymorphic appendage of his opponent.
'The best' found himself overpowered by something he could not even fully comprehend.
"Damn it! Where are the snow leopards? I'd much rather fight the leopards...", fondly reminiscing to his previous voracious experience in the area just as his foe lunged at him with primal instict, not a moment of thought or calculation found in it's behavior. Last desperate act: he naturally reached for his other blade Dissonance, The Anti-Metal Masamune. He quickly positioned it to intercept and intersect the Oni and closed his eyes.
When Damien opened his sapphire eyes again, the monster's face was just inches of his own. It's vile esoteric essence splattered over him for the moment it progressively began to dissipate into the aether. Damien rose into a kneeling position with his hands on his knees. "This place.", the emotions inside causing a creak in his voice as he expressed his dissatisfaction.
The mountain's conditions were unwelcoming, hazardous, cruel. It stripped the stone monuments and statues of forgotten monks of their color, left them grey and dull, cracked and ready to break. Clouds of grey hung high, looming over all who dared climb the mountain, casting a snowstorm that left the air cold and inhospitable, as though spikes of ice burrowed into the skin. In the distance, behind a cool mist, Ishin walked, snow crunching under his bare feet, frost clinging to his long, dark curls and stubble. His frame, tall and muscled to the lean proportions of a great figure of martial artistry, was draped in a tattered cloak of midnight blue. His sword, an uchigatana whose blade was bandaged, was held by the raven sash tied round his waist.
A conical Asian straw hat cast a quiet shadow over his earnest features as he strode with the posture of man without fear. There was mercilessness in his movement, a presence of icy confidence and subtle danger cast by his every stride. Ahead of him, his pack of snow leopards hurried, their snarls and growls alerting him of what lied beyond. They'd been perverted by the esoteric energies of the mountain. They were elongated and contorted, moving with an unnerving grace. Their fur had shed their spots and grown as white as the snow all about them. Their eyes were white and featureless, and wisps of frost seemed to whip all about their bodies. Behind them, Ishin strode, his eyes of pale grey following the distant silhouettes of his snow leopards.
They burst forward, their ears perking at the sound of a voice in the distance. Behind a freezing mist, his snow leopards stalked, their heartless gaze resting upon a man brought to his knees. They growled and hissed.. then fell silent. Ishin's silhouette emerged, his cloak fluttering in the cold wind, his presence seizing the atmosphere by the throat. Bringing his feet to a halt, his gaze rested upon the man, "Oh... it's you", his voice coolly echoed.
Damien took a moment to gather all that was left of his fatigueless reserves. But his surroundings moved in harmony with the nigh-arctic enviroment. Little was heard and even less understood. He exhaled deeply after finding his breath, but heard another breathing behind his own. His irises shunted to attention and his head rose to meet his wish come true. Snow leopards, he swerved back in the snow as the sight had caught him by surprise, but found the pack...waiting?
The voice resonated with the frost, the sheer anticlimax digging into his soul harder that the climate. Damien picked up his sword and rose from the ground. First aiming towards the man but eventually shifting the point of his blade between him and the grotesque pack of leopards. "Yes..?", he replied somewhat reluctantly. Despite his current vagabond appearance Damien owned a sharp mind, indubitably so. "I swear to god, if you're gonna tell me you were there the last time I climbed up this damned mountain..."...then I'm gonna force-feed you some leopard du crue.
(Sorry for the delay. I didn't expect the beginning of the week to be so stressful.)
3:05 AM, Reisho Mountain
Under the black expanse of the night sky, the Reisho mountain stood firm as the tall and icy peak the Keijijo Clan called their home. Whipped by harsh winter winds and haunted by the nightmarish yōkai of Japanese folklore, few survived the arduous climb to the Keijijo's monastery. And yet, a horde of Grimmwald's Orochi walked up the stone steps built by Keijijo mystics, braving snowstorms that peeled flesh from bone and yōkai that stalked the mountain from the shadows. Moonlight glimmering like silver along their vibranium blades, their crimson Keikogi as red as the eyes of the devil controlling them, the Orochi's Shinigami climbed up the mountain like a rising tide of blood.
Hour after hour, they climbed higher and higher, slowed by nothing till the gates of the Keijijo's monastery swung open, and out stormed the mountain's legendary clansmen, armed with weapons and techniques lost to time. Like a lion with it's pride, the Keijijo defended their home from invasion. In their courtyard, on the snow-capped steps, the battle raged - and the Horned Saint lurked in the shadows. With the Keijijo distracted by his Orochi, he stalked the shadows of the monastery unseen by the eyes of those protecting the gates of their home. He was quick, climbing in and out of shadows until he'd found what he'd come for - and then some. And suddenly, in the heat of battle as swords clashed and blood spilled, the Orochi vanished as quickly as they came, retreating it seemed from enemies armed with chi sorcery they could not contend with.
The Horned Saint lost many Shinigami that night. But he had gained what he had come for. Weapons and metals forged by energies and forces unknown, and the texts - the scrolls - that held the secrets to the Keijijo's forbidden chi techniques, and their one skill of unifying body and mind that Grimmwald had coveted for so long. Now, he need only find the temple of his ancestor and train in the halls of Strigidae Zero to master and unify Abuskhau, Absolutio and the forbidden Keijijo techniques into one system and - become the ultimate weapon. Evil would fear him. And the heroes would never understand him.
Please Log In to post.