Death Event: Fate of the Unfortunate (working title) [Gore]

[Libitinarius]

original character details here: http://forums.kamets...ead.php?t=28727

1.1 Satan's Den

Nightfall refused to hide the dilapidated condition endured by her urban walls, whose crumbling imperfections were accentuated by the barrage of passing headlights that crowded the city streets. It was too late to salvage the infrastructure of this city… rigor mortis had set into the very cornerstone of its construction, an irreparable damage for which no cosmetics could conceal after years of rotting and necrosis. Every city block was heaped with mounds of garbage that overfilled into the flood drains of the streets. Countless buildings were condemned. Welcome to the decrepit cesspool that signifies the beginning decay of all things humane… Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the city of Los Angeles.

A figure stepped out from the concealed darkness to ignite the cigarette in his mouth; the lights revealed a youthful man of medium build, with dashing long brown hair, and a prominent scar winding down the left side of his cheek. He was dressed in what appeared to be an expensive black suit with a matching tie and shoes--but this was no urban paradise for some prissy high class Caucasian snob. Nevertheless, there he stood, completely undaunted by the conditions set before him, just casually smoking a cigarette in one of the roughest cities in the West Pacific. He puckered his lips around the tip of the filter waiting for the sensation of Tobacco to course through his lungs. His expression showed no concern, he was staring over to his left at one of the many vandalized city walls covered with various colors of gang graffiti.

::Honk-Honk::

“Hey baby, how much for a blowjob?” said a male's lingering voice from a vehicle in the nearby vicinity. A woman strutted out casually toward the man’s vehicle; her attire was bearing all her sexual assets, leaving nothing to the imagination. Streets like these chew up and spit out anything they can scavenge without discrimination for a so-called "hierarchy". Those who know of the urban legends call this place Satan’s Den.

The man had surveyed this grease pit long enough; he tossed his cigarette to the ground and stretched out his right hand in a peculiar fashion. He began to manipulate a very thin space of air confined to the range of his palm. After a few seconds of concentration, the molecules of oxygen began to break apart from their weak hydrogen bonds into a gaseous state; the rapid cooling from the dense cold night caused the elements to form into solid shards resembling dry ice. He had opened a wormhole into an alternate realm, there was work to be done.

Edited October 7, 2012 by Emotional Outlet

[Libitinarius]

1.2 The Criterions of Lost Souls

The man had stepped through the wormhole unnoticed, or rather, most eyes residing on Earth lack the necessary vision to detect this supernatural anomaly. As unbeknownst to most lingering in present society, the world is rampant with the deadly departed, some who were lost by accident, while others who go underground in attempt to avoid the entire cliché all together. It is for these souls a war is waged between light and darkness. For despite common assumption of immediate transcending to Heaven or Hell after death--souls can linger almost indefinitely on Earth until a side comes to apprehend their spirit. Therefore the solution was to forge a group of individuals called the Criterion—primarily assembled for restoring a balance between the realms, to return the misplaced souls back to their proper habitat. They are entities granted with the ability to slip between the tangible and intangible realms—the truancy officers of lost souls. Criterion can guide anyone who is deemed an unwelcomed guest among the living, except for those whose disposition was cremation. Cremains (ashes) offer no sustainable link between Criterion and host, the very essence of the departed soul incinerates into oblivion, erased from the books into the very void of creation itself; they are bound to an existence in the vast nothingness.

Thus one could assume the dinner menu for those newly acquainted is isolated to Heaven and Hell... but another distinction does exist, one that is an extremely rare exception to the norm of soul trafficking--the realm of Purgatory. Purgatory, a realm fixed between Heaven and Hell, the bookmark for those whose judgment has yet to be finalized for a variety of reasons, mostly complications in due process. The realm historically served as a place-holder for all souls in times past, before God chose to condone the evil in man, refusing to look upon their vulgar sins. Thus he sent a facsimile of himself for recompense known as Jesus Christ, who broke the veil to Purgatory and allowed man access to the Promise Land. Unfortunately for Criterion, Purgatory is another task slated to their already extensive workload. (More on the battles of Demons and Criterion for souls in this realm later)

But yes I’m trailing…

The man steps through the wormhole to wind up in front of his place of Earthly employment, a mortuary located in downtown Los Angeles by the name of Frankford and Son’s Funeral Parlor. This was a beat up funeral establishment that stood on the same foundation for nearly 50 years. The man stops to adjust his loosened tie and walks inside to be greeted by an old man frantically multitasking between paperwork and clients on the telephone.

“Yes, I understand Sir. You want her face embroidered on the head panel of the casket, and well that is a splendid idea I still must recommend a closed casket service, since she wasn’t “embalmed”, unless you plan on having a private viewing as stated before. Her remains are rapidly decomposing as we speak, even in the freezer Sir, it is a smell I am afraid not even Frebreeze can candy-coat,” said the old man trying to keep his composure on telephone with the customer’s unreasonable demands.

Now one might question the logic behind a Criterion seeking employment on Earth, but the reason is simple enough given ample time to explain. You see, the powers of the Criterion are limited to touch, and although they are able to spot a demon from a mile away, they are not exactly what you would call telepathic. Each Criterion has devised their own method for seeking out the wondering souls on Earth. So what better way to find prospective souls than having death gift wrapped and shipped to your front doorstep? Call it a sick joke on God’s part, or maybe a gross negligence of power, but nonetheless they require a dead vessel to ascertain: what, where, when, why, and how. Think of it as a detective requiring a trail to solve a cold case, only on a spiritual level.

But there I go getting off topic…

The man calmly clears his throat as to announce his arrival.

“Oh, Edgar… no need for an invitation, we just got a fresh set of remains that needs immediate attention,” Said the old man.

“Very well then Hubert, I am on it,” Said Edgar.

Edgar browsed the charts until he saw the list entitled with his name “Edgar Asori”.

There were other embalmers employed on at this funeral home, but being a Criterion who has seen more than a few life cycles can’t hurt ones clout when it comes to nitpicking amongst cases. Edgar suited up in his PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) and walked into the cooler to decipher his next case for the evening.

[Libitinarius]

1.3 The Spy for Hell

Back in the heart of Satan’s Den, a homeless man was slouching against a slime crusted wall, hording a hut of aluminum cans like a small treasure. The man was caked in dirt and grease; anyone could recognize the state of his financial affairs with his holey jacket and gloves. He swatted a fly away from his general vicinity, as he stood up to crack his spine into place. The bum stroked his straggly grey beard while letting off an evil smile that revealed the rows of rotting teeth. Apparently he had witnessed the wormhole the Criterion had opened in the heart of the downtown area. For this man was no man at all, but a former shell of himself now possessed by a demon.

::Arghhhl.::

“Finally, a chance to redeem myself to the boss!” said the dark entity while regurgitating some bile from the back of his trachea. He awkwardly limped forward to make his way toward the site of the event. There was a glowing residue left in the middle of the sidewalk, so he proceeded to squat over and taste the remaining condensation left by the wormhole.

“So, Edgar Asori is nosing about in Master’s playground. To find the residue of a Criterion is rare feat indeed! Master must recognize the value of my watchful eyes this time!”

Scooping up the condensation with his right fingernail into a vile, he sealed the vile with a cap and proceeded to swallow it. The ailments that plagued his body earlier must have been for appearance sake, because he took off down the street with a speed too fast for any human eye to describe.