Mordecai Asmodeus

[The Site Buttmonkey]

Name: Mordecai Asmodeus
Age: 228 years old (appears as 24)
Gender Male
Birthday: December 5th, 1781
Height: 5’11’’ (Five feet and eleven inches)
Weight: 151 lbs (One hundred and fifty-one pounds)
Eye colour: Raven Black
Hair colour: Raven Black

Orientation: Las Noches
Rank: Quinta Espada / Espada Quinto / Fifth Espada


Constitution
-Strength: 20 - Even though Mordecai could be seen as bearing a fragile body, he can surprisingly fight quite well against strong foes in terms of brute strength.
-Endurance: 15 - Even though he might seem weak because of his condition, that does not mean Mordecai cannot take quite a few hits before going down.
Dexterity
-Agility: 10 - Thanks to an unknown disease he got after removing his mask - his Shinigamification - Mordecai's cardioactivity degraded to a puny state which doesn't allow him to run. That in itself already makes him unable to do a great deal of movement techniques.
-Accuracy: 15 – While not fast at all while running, Mordecai is still very good when it comes to speed in strikes and being able to aim adequately.
Resurrección
-Attack: 20 - While in ressureccciòn, Mordecai's offensive skills pummels to a whole new level. This is mainly because of his numerous new sword-like limbs and the other features that comes with it.
-Defense: 20 - Again, while in ressurecciòn, Mordecai has a lot more limbs than the usual spiritual entity. Thus, he can block a lot more strikes than he could normally block.
Natural Abilities
-Offensive: 20 - Even though Mordecai is not a man who would jump on any occasion to fight, his offensive prowess are quite remarkable. That is, if fighting cunningly could be seen as ''remarkable''.
-Defensive: 20 - Thanks to his sealed abilities (and to his cowardice), Asmodeus focuses a lot of his will and power on defense.
Perception
-Intelligence: 20 - Mordecai is not a man of tactics at all. He might be an intellectual of some sort, but that's more towards art and philosophy than battle plans. That being said, it's not as if he couldn't think of anything while in a fight.
-Willpower: 10 – If anything, Asmodeus lacks in everything that revolves around will. Instead of pursuing a fight, he will most likely turn back and escape to safety.
Presence
-Charisma: 15 – The Quinta Espada can be quite passionate at time, which might boost his social skills and his understanding of others.
-Leadership: 15 – Asmodeus doesn't have the habit of commanding troops. Rather, he even hates it. Nevertheless, he can successfully utilize the roles of others.


Music-wise:

Mordecai's Theme

Mordecai's Battle Theme


Appearance:

All this blood running down my forearm... is no longer an alarm.

Visual

With a face free of scars, cuts or bruises, the skeletal structure of Mordecai’s cranium is one to be admired, crafted between the delicate hands of God and the destructive hands of Satan, a master piece was produced forth, bringing true beauty to fruition. The endless time capsules of the world seemingly fade through the subject’s greyish laced orbs, watching and waiting for the world to prosper or crumble. The nose slightly pointed, while the ears are slightly pinned back, combined with voluptuous lips truly bring the masterpiece to fruition. The face of a God in the eyes of many a female, and even his enemies. A frown -perhaps a sadistic grin - crafted to perfection, is all that would meet those who dare gaze at his elegant visage.

With the motions and figure of the most masculine of females, Mordecai’s body is known for its most carefully put together physique (and somewhat delicate nature within situations and life). Neither too scrawny or out of shape, the subject dons the body of an Adonis. Utilizing his elegant crafted biceps and triceps, he can easily deliver quick slashing motions with his Zanpakutou, as well as being able to hold his own within hand-to-hand combat, knowing that one that one that relies too much on their Zanpakutou are at a great disadvantage when confronted with a situation when one is unharmed. Although not as overly muscular as those of the eleventh division fighters (or extremely built Arrancar), Asmodeus keeps himself well built, insisting on keeping his average physique.

Not visible by the eye when covered up by the subject’s clothing, Mordecai’s hollow hole is located on the left side of his chest where a human’s heart would normally be. The only remnants of his hollow-self are located on both of the young man’s ears; acting as some kind of earrings; and on top of both his hands and fingers; resembling the skeleton costumes some kids were wearing during Halloween. The tattoo of his rank is drawn within the palm of his left hand. What would also be important to mention is that Mordecai's reiatsu is of a bright lime green. Thus, all his reiatsu based attacks - cero and bala - are of the same distinguished color. Furthermore, when powering up, his reiatsu seems like emiting a notable noise. This prominent din might sound like a mix of numerous people screaming and a whistling kettle.

Unlike many of his kin within Hueco Mundo, Mordecai does not don the milk chocolate altercations of the obsidian Shinigami robes. The ivory colored jacket, outlined in black, who would extend long past the usual length, ending toward the beginning of the subject’s calves, is non-existent. What makes Mordecai’s appearance the most unusual compared to the other Arrancars’ is without a doubt his attire. Atramentous pants extend from his waist and continue on until they meet up with the subject’s elegant obsidian colored boots, mirroring the color of the subject’s ebony belts – because, yes, he has more than one. His melanoid top (because we couldn’t really call it a shirt) is punctuated by a severe number of onyx straps; which does not all hold a definite purpose. Upon Mordecai’s left pectoral appears to be an unusual sombre mechanism. The apparatus connects with a breathing mask, which is worn around the subject’s chin and neck. This, my friends, is the most crucial part of Asmodeus’s accoutrements. The device enables Mordecai to breathe correctly, since he bears an unknown disease which makes him unable to run or move around quickly. Without this ink like contrivance, the young man would most likely be the target of a full-size coughing fit and would die out of oxygen supplies after a while.


Personality:

From whose tongue does the answers promote truth?

Mordecai – The Man
Mordecai is most noticeable for his perpetually calm and refined manner, to the point where he seems emotionless. He treats others like soldiers and allies rather than friends or comrades, and most of his interpersonal interaction is kept professional. He also isn’t the kind to take any nonsense from others, and prefers to keep conversation concise and to the point. He rarely, if ever, actually smiles, and he has never been seen to actually laugh. The young man carries with him a serious sort of aura about him, as if everything he does is deathly important, and his voice is a low growl without any hint of humour. His calm personality and air of superiority tends to have the effect of causing others to see him as a higher-up or a person of authority.

Mordecai – The Inner Storm
On the opposite side of that coin, Asmodeus can occasionally be quite violent and angry at times. Saying the wrong thing, or aggravating him to such a degree, might send him flying off the handle into a fit of unparalleled rage. His once apathetic and emotionless eyes glaze over and become devoid of anything but rage. Fury fills his thoughts, and anger drives his body; he becomes the incarnate of hatred itself. Anything and everything infuriates him to new heights, and the disdain he feels for anyone else's existence can be quite scary at times. These fits of destructive anger come at seemingly inordinate intervals, sparked by a rogue memory of his human past, or perhaps someone threatens him, or even simply because the wrong thing was said to him. The catalysts for these bouts of intensity are many, and yet when it would happen again, he might remain perfectly calm and content. It is quite a harrowing experience for those involved, as he will lash out at anyone or anything in the immediate area around him. People, buildings, plants and animals, even the ground itself is subject to his erratic fury. Even sitting alone, doing nothing but watching the sky, he might erupt in a violent surge of emotion, only coming to his senses much later, with gouts of earth torn up and charred craters dotting the landscape around him. He himself is unaware of anything he does while under the influence of such violent mood swings, and will simply awaken afterward with no recollection of anything happening.

Mordecai – The Passionate
Yet again, Mordecai is a man of deep and philosophical thoughts. He is an artist, after all. When with people that he actually really cares about – might they be friends or people close to him - Mordecai might reveal this splendid side of his personality filled with wonders and diversified knowledge. Deep inside, where no stranger is allowed, one would find a sensitive and caring Mordecai; a Mordecai with a strong passion towards art and music; a Mordecai filled with bright colors, boreal auroras of treasures and rainbows of multiple ideas. Often times, in the halls of Las Noches, an Arrancar passing by could most likely hear the breathtaking melodies emanating from Asmodeus’s quarters. Indeed, as any pianist in this world, Mordecai has his own piano in his apartments, which he uses on a daily basis. Not only is he playing the amazing pieces of music from the renowned artists of his time, he also loves to play his own compositions.

Mordecai – The Wounded
Finally, we could describe Mordecai as a deeply wounded individual. When alone, Mordecai tends to exhibit a very low mood that pervades all aspects of his life. If one was to spy over him while isolated, one could notice that Asmodeus may often be preoccupied with, or ruminate over, thoughts and feelings of worthlessness, inappropriate guilt or regret, helplessness, hopelessness, and self hatred – which is mostly caused by the lungs ailment his body is suffering of. Insomnia is common: in the typical pattern, Mordecai wakes very early and is unable to get back to sleep. To top it all, thoughts of death or suicide often take place in his mind.


Strengths:

Tomorrow brings more death.

First off, Mordecai is an artist. He is cultured and has a gargantuan imagination. He can play piano like no one else and can draw portraits with great precision. His art covers a broad spectrum of activities; from playing music to killing his foes. Mordecai might not be able to move around quickly, but he is unusually strong for his shape and has quite a good hierro. He is not a man who would jump into fights recklessly and would, in fact, rather not join useless brawls and duels. Amongst everything else, Mordecai’s greatest strength would be his defensive skills (see Abilities and Ressurection).


Weaknesses:

Lives were taken, lives were done.

Combat-wise, Mordecai is not a man of tactics. He simply needs a superior. Asmodeus cannot act as an ordering figure nor can he spill out superb plans like a tactician. He simply does his job; executing - ending someone's life, and then probably feeding on that individual’s flesh. Furthermore, Mordecai doesn't have a lot of vitality - he tires out quite quickly. Endurance-wise, he cannot take a lot of hits and will kneel down after one two or three decisive blows (that’s if someone actually succeeds such a task). Plus, Mordecai does not think there are such thing as ''honor'' in a fight. If facing a stronger foe, the young man will fight against it for a little while and, once he sees there is no way he could possibly win, will retreat. In no way is it ''coward'' to him - he just values his life.


Abilities:

The skies are painted to the abyss.

First off, Asmodeus possesses the six standard techniques of the Arrancar race, while some are a bit different:

- Hierro ( lit. "steel skin;") refers to the ultra tough skin of the Arrancar, which is a result of their compressed spiritual power. While their skin is strong enough to block even released Zanpaktou¨¬ bare-handed, it is by no means impenetrable. Stronger Arrancar have proportionally stronger skin. Some Adjucas and Vasto Lorde Menos have this skill.

- Cero ( lit. "hollow flash") are high-powered energy blasts that can be fired from the mouth or hand. Only menos, arrancar, and vizard have so far been shown to use cero attacks, and it appears that higher classes of hollow can use it more efficiently. Just like many of his kin within Hueco Mundo, Asmodeus’ Cero is red.

- Gran Rey Cero ( lit. "royal hollow flash;") is a Cero that only Espada are capable of using. It is performed by mixing an Espada's own blood with the Cero. The result is a Cero with a much greater attack power and speed as well as a change of color unique to the Espada. It is also many times more powerful than a normal Cero, capable of disturbing the fabric of space, it also seems to spin like a razor upon release as it compresses and decompresses due to the sheer speed and raw power. It is a drastically potent Cero, used only by the Espada themselves.

- Bala ( lit. "hollow bullet;") is a weaker but quicker alternative to the regular cero attack. The technique hardens the user's spiritual pressure and fires it at around twenty times the speed of a cero blast. All hollows can use bala. Asmodeus’s Balas are of the same red color as most of Arrancars within Hueco Mundo and are fired either by his palms or by his fists.

- Sonido (lit. "resounding revolution;") is the arrancar equivalent of the shinigami flash steps; it allows the user to travel at incredibly high speeds for short distances. Use of sonido is punctuated by a brief static sound, in contrast to the "swish" sound used for flash steps. Adjucas Menos and greater are also capable of sonido. Since Asmodeus can only walk, as described previously, his Sonido is but a weak version of its original self. In that end, Asmodeus can only use sonido for 4 to 5 feet away from its original position.

- Pesquisa ( lit. "inquiry circuit;") is the Arrancar equivalent of the Shinigami ability to sense spiritual pressure. It functions similar to sonar. Menos are also capable of using this ability.

- Garganta (lit. "black cavity;") is how Arrancar move to and from Hueco Mundo. It literally tears open the dimensional fabric separating the worlds, revealing a tunnel of whirling, torrential energy that must be focused and solidified to create a discernible pathway. When used, the technique opens the dimensional fabric like a door. All Menos may use Garganta.

- Negacion ( lit. "counter membrane;") fields are used to rescue fellow hollows. Negacion fields surround a target in a square beam of light that isolates the target from the dimension they are currently in, making it impossible to harm them. The field then pulls the target toward the Menos that created the field.

- Flotante de acero Satélites ( lit. ‘’Floating Steel Satellites :’’) is Asmodeus’s unique ability. To make it short, four fist-sized black orbs are permanently floating around the Arrancar. No matter what he does, no matter what happens, these four globes will follow their master. They do not have a mind of their own, of course, but Mordecai can control them with his thoughts. With a mere flick of his mind, these orbs can travel through air and ground, and reach whatever Mordecai targets. They are as hard as any Zanpakutou, and thus, cannot be cut or crushed to tiny pieces. He can control them individually or as a group, and can make them accomplish any trajectory he sees fit. They are quite useful in combat, or in any regular task (such as picking up a cloak or pressing the black keys of a piano’s keyboard). Finally, there are some limits to how far Mordecai can control his orbs. After reaching the fifty yards distance, Asmodeus would start having troubles controlling them and move at the same time. After reaching the one hundred yards distance, Asmodeus would have to close his eyes and sit or lay down to control them effectively. Asmodeus cannot exceed the limit of one hundred and fifty yards. It would be important to note that Mordecai can see and sense reiatsu through these orbs from a distance - which comes in quite handy at times. [UTILITY - CLOSE/SHORT/MID/LONG]

- Bane de lo Intocable ( lit. "Bane of the Untouchable;") is Mordecai’s second and last sealed ability; which is more passive than anything. It is, in fact, a way of fleeing the battlefield – a coward’s ability - since Asmodeus does not really believe in ‘’honor’’ and such. Mordecai is able to reduce himself to shadow form, and to return to bodily form at will. To put it simple, Mordecai hides himself into his own shadow, which can move around as any shadow would. It also makes striking him somewhat difficult; since he is made of an elusive matter, any regular strike will go right through his shadowy form. By the way, it is not a 24/7 form. Mordecai actually needs to activate it and it uses its fair load of Reiatsu. [DEFENSIVE/UTILITY - CLOSE]


Zanpakutō Name: Ophiel


Sealed Zanpakutō:

Pardoned fragments of sorrow benefit only the scorned.

If one was to stare at Mordecai in search for a sword, one would be left unsuccessful. Upon the Arrancar’s figure, there are no such things as any visible sheath to his side or back; or any handles sticking out of a pocket or belt, for that matter. Mordecai just seems utterly and completely unarmed. One could then think that the man specializes in hand-to-hand combat and, henceforth, doesn’t need any weapon. One would be wrong. In fact, Mordecai will fight dishonourably until the end. He might seem unarmed, but his deadly Zanpakuto is simply hidden from sight. The slightly curved blade remains between Mordecai’s right forearm and the leathery material of his dark outfit’s sleeve. Thanks to a brilliant mechanism formerly created by the renown Da Vinci – which was then modified by some unknown entity so the weapon could rest on top of the wielder’s forearm instead of underneath it – Asmodeus’s blade can slide forward and show its shining self to the rest of the world. Yes; the Quinta Espada’s Zanpakuto is a retractable blade. The sword (if it may be called that; it’s more just a blade than anything) is as long as Mordecai’s forearm – which is approximately thirteen or fourteen inches long – and extends, when ‘’unsheated’’ from the wielder’s wrist. The blade comes out of a slight slit on Asmodeus’s sleeve, near the wrist, that was made there specifically for that purpose. In fact, the slit would be the only possible clue that Mordecai is actually armed. But who would possibly make the link? The Quinta Espada’s attire is already weird enough as it is – with all the black straps and whatnot.


Incantation to Release: Caer, Ophiel! ( lit. "Fall Down, Ophiel!;")


Resurrección:

Those who lived purity will cease to be pure.

Upon uttering the release command, a gigantic column of lime green reiatsu manifests itself around Mordecai and reaches for the sky. The immense pilaster is actually quite translucent, and thus, everyone staring at it could see the Quinta Espada inside of it; his head probably bent back by the surge of spiritual pressure and his eyes most likely wide open. If one was to stare at the emerald pillar, one would realize that ghostly visages of unknown humanoids travel constantly from the bottom of the column to its very top – which cannot be distinguished - with their mouth gaped into an eternal shriek of agony and despair. Also, a subtle noise emanates from the whole spiritual stake and emits a sound comparable to a mix of numerous people screaming and a whistling kettle. It is inside that column that Mordecai’s transformation undergoes. Striking Asmodeus during that alteration is also out of question since the spiritual pillar acts as a Negacion and will not allow any harm to be done to the Quinta Espada throughout that short period of time. Any sword or weapon being swung at Mordecai will simply be blocked as if the column was impenetrable and any spiritual attack will be dispersed. Try it if you want to see for yourself.

Mordecai’s transformation is quite complex and will actually change a lot of his outer appearance. The first notable step of this conversion is the creation of numerous additional limbs. The four orbs revolving telekinetically around the Quinta Espada come into action and automatically rush to the Arrancar. Two of the four black spheres reach the exact locations where the primary limbs will be created; which are situated upon Mordecai’s shoulder blades. One of the remaining two orbs, though, will direct itself towards the Arrancar’s lower back; where a tail would normally be situated. Each of the two orbs on the Quinta Espada’s back will stick to their location and will slowly start to stretch into bat-like (more like… alien-like) limbs. At some point, of course, the limbs will create a juncture, from which two distinct blade-like appendages will stretch out. From each juncture will also be created some kind of claw to make the whole transformation even more deadly. As for the orb situated on Mordecai’s lower back, it will stay there and wait for the second step.

This ‘’second step’’ is probably the most complex step of the whole altercation. Remember Mordecai’s last orb, the one that is still revolving closely to the Arrancar? Well, this last sphere suddenly starts boiling. Yes, it starts boiling. It boils for a dozen of seconds there and then rush to Mordecai’s chest. Now in a semi-liquid form, the obsidian matter spreads across Asmodeus’s whole body – even the new additional limbs - to create a sinister scale mail armor. The only thing that is not covered by the new protective shell is the Quinta Espada’s head; which is now free of the breathing mask. Indeed, in his released form, Mordecai doesn't need the support of his mask to perform whatever motions and actions he needs to perform. The whole ebony matter then solidifies; completing Asmodeus’s new attire with spaulders and even claw-like gloves. Evidently, the second step doesn’t stop there. There’s still one phase left to this step. The sphere situated on Mordecai’s lower back finally starts to spread to create a ragged piece of cloth around this area. The fabric extends until it reaches the Arrancar’s calves and, this time here, stretches into three blade-like appendages. One of them is totally different from the other two, though. We could say it is more artistic than anything.

Finally, the gigantic column of lime green reiatsu starts to flicker before dissipating into the air around as some kind of smog. This thick layer of elusive matter stays right there in the sky and blocks the sunlight. Thus, the area around the battlefield gets pretty dark. At last, Mordecai appears to the world in his new outfit and with his new array of powers and abilities. In fact, the Quinta Espada’s resurrection is quite tricky and shall be explained right away.

- Redención Maldito ( lit. ‘’ Cursed Redemption;’’) is the first ability given to Mordecai Asmodeus upon his resurrection. It is also the only passive ability that is given to him. The concept of Redención Maldito is rather simple, but tricky. The darker the environment is, the more efficient the Quinta Espada gets. When Mordecai fights at night in his resurrection form, the darkness of the environment powers him up and makes him stronger and more resistant. Of course, this doesn’t mean he is faster, since he still has this handicap caused by his disease. Mordecai’s resurrection becomes complete when he fights in total darkness. Not only is he getting stronger, he also gets empowered by some interesting abilities – such as melding his blade-like appendages with the surroundings to stretch them. To put it simple, in total obscurity, the darkness around Mordecai becomes tangible and malleable - to the point where he can make the very ground wobble to make an opponent lose their footing. Sadly, this ability is a double-edged blade. When fighting in daylight in his resurrection form, Mordecai is weaker and less resistant than normal. The effect is exponential in total light, such as fighting in a desert or on a sunny day during summer. The luminosity literally crashes against his armor and heats it up; slowly making it melt on Mordecai. Obviously, this means that after a short while, the Quinta Espada will die as he would be burned to death under his melting attire. [OFFENSIVE/DEFENSIVE - CLOSE]

- Nosanto Salvaciòn ( lit. ‘’Unholy Salvation;’’) is Mordecai’s second ability given to him upon his resurrection and affects both the environment and his attire. At any given time, the Quinta Espada can sacrifice a part of his attire. Two choices are offered to him. He can either give up one of his blade-like appendages, or his armor. The piece of attire will suddenly burst and create a short period of total obscurity around the area; that is, if it’s a blade-like appendage that is sacrificed. Up to a total of seven, each forfeited limb will serve for roughly around 3 minutes. What would be important to note is that these limbs do not suppress light from being created - they, themselves, create darkness. Thus, if one was to turn on a flashlight inside the darkened area, the beam of light would not be ‘sucked in’ by the immediate darkness. Also, Mordecai has a second option: sacrificing his whole armor. Choosing the second option will deprive Asmodeus of any possible defense, but will create a period of total obscurity for a longer time – roughly around 6 minutes. This could also be referred to as Mordecai’s last stand, as he would only use it after having sacrificed all of his blade-like appendages. [UTILITY - CLOSE]

- Impío Vindicación ( lit. ‘’Impious Vindication;’’) is the last of Mordecai’s ability when in resurrection form and is the only ability that could be identified as an offensive one. Impío Vindicación allows Mordecai to create thin blades of ‘’dark’’ reiatsu by doing slicing motions with his blade-like appendages and can be used either in darkness or daylight. The trick is; these blades are harder to see in darkness, since they are of a dim color. During daylight, these blades can easily be noticed, and thus, can easily be dodged if the foe is quick enough. These blades travel quite quickly – not as fast as Bala, and not as slow as Cero – and can cut through a lot of materials. These materials do not include Zanpakutous. They also cost their fair share of reiatsu, and thus, Mordecai cannot spam them around. [OFFENSIVE - CLOSE/MID/LONG]


History:

Nauseated revenge spills decayed pasts.

Not much is known about Asmodeus’s past. No baptismal, no testament, no proofs that he even lived. In fact, all we could know about our dear Quinta Espada would be found in the Archivum Secretum Apostolicum Vaticanum. In the year 1784, a young boy was found on the stairs leading to the Sistine Chapel. The juvenile lad was barely clothed – naked, if it wouldn’t have been for the ragged linen bag that had been turned upside down and that now had the purpose of garment – and could surprisingly only talk Latin. Of course, being who they were, the religious men of Vatican couldn’t let the youthful boy there, and thus, took him under their wing. They raised him in the sanctity of Vatican and religion, they taught him the ways of God, the numerous languages of man and the wonderful thing that was art. Unlike their plans for him, though, the young boy never became a bishop or a priest. As a matter of fact, now a cultured teenager and moved by music itself, Mordecai left the sacredness of Vatican to start his life as a pianist. No one knows how he became a cannibal – it’s not like they would understand anyways – and no one knows where he truly lived and travelled. All that’s left of him are mere stories to scare the kids...

So here starts the story of Asmodeus as a mortal man would know it.

Legends tell that Croglin Grange was in the hands of the Fisher Family for many centuries. In the Early 19th Century the Fishers moved from the property into larger dwellings, and put the property up to let. All during the cold long winter the house was empty, who knows what ancient stirrings were aroused in its period of dereliction. As the winter passed into spring the grange was finally let to two brothers and a sister called the Cranswells. It seems that they enjoyed life to the full and soon settled in to village routine, and socialised with the local people. They were well liked within the village, and loved their new home very much.

One summers evening as the shadows drew long around the Grange and the Churchyard hollow took on the blackness of night. Miss Cranswell took her leave to her bed chamber; she paused to look out of the window in the direction of the darkened churchyard at the bottom of their long lawn, and noticed something peculiar in the vicinity of the churchyard. It seemed that above the darker blackness of the gravestones, she could see two points of light moving. In time they moved from the graveyard over the shadows of the wall, moving closer on to the bottom of the lawn, where they played around the churchyard wall. By this time Miss Cranswells curiosity had given way to a deep feeling of unease, she shut the window tight, bolted the door, and laid down in her bed to try and get some sleep.

After a short while she checked herself for her foolish superstition, and slowly drifted to slumber. On the verge of sleep she was suddenly jolted awake by a low rustling from outside the window. She twisted in bed and sat bolt upright, outside the window burning like coals in the night were two points of light, which she now recognised as the demon eyes of some humanoid creature, who was grasping at the window pane. She tried to scream but terror froze the sound in her throat.

The sound of rustling gave way to picking and she realised that the creature’s brutish hands were unpicking the lead from the triangular panes. First one, then another of the small glass panels gave way and fell to the floor. A grey cadaver-like hand reached in and pulled the latch. The window swung inwards in one slow motion, and the figure climbed through the gap with a cat-like ease. Miss Cranswell could now hardly breathe let alone scream for before her stood the towering figure of a man, pale, almost translucent with bright burning eyes and blood-red lips. He stepped to the bed, and in one movement grasped her hair with gnarled hands, and pulled her head back as if to deliver a kiss.

The brothers, sleeping in separate rooms were aroused by a loud high pitched scream that seemed to shake the very walls of the Grange. In a moment they were before their sister's door. The door was locked so they smashed through with a poker, eventually breaking through into a devastating scene. There was a stench of mouldy decay in the air, and upon the bed lay their sister, blood pumping from arterial gashes in her neck – a whole chunk of flesh had been ripped off by what appeared to be teeth. One of the brothers rushed to the open window and just caught sight of a shadow flitting across the bottom of the lawn near the churchyard. They managed to stop the blood flow and revive Miss Cranswell; the next few hours were spent in the attempt to save her life.

Miss Cranswell survived the attack, and when she was strong enough to travel they took her to Switzerland to recuperate in the fresh mountain air. When the full story was in the open the brothers swore revenge on the creature, at whose nature they could only guess. When Miss Cranswell had recovered fully and heard of her brothers plans to hunt out her assailant, she persuaded her brothers to let her act as bait, and would not be dissuaded by her brothers' concerns.

So it came to be that the Cranswells returned to Croglin one dark winter’s day. Miss Cranswell took her place in the room overlooking the churchyard, and as the moon rose, a pair of bright lights shone in the shadows of the churchyard. Once more the figure of a man appeared at the window and picked the leaded glass to gain entry to the bed chamber. This time the two brothers were lying in wait in the shadows, as the figure came to step into the room they both loosed shots at the creature. There was a low grunt and the creature sped off at in the direction from whence it came. Not wishing to follow such a night creature into its domain the two brothers waited for daybreak.

First thing in the morning they took Miss Cranswell to safety and gathered all the residents of the grange around them to carry out their gruesome task.

The men searched the graveyard for any signs of disturbance on finding none turned their attention to the church. All was quiet but they noticed that the crypt door was slightly ajar. Pushing into the crypt they were met with a horrific scene. All around the crypt were the scattered remains of broken coffins and gnawed human bones. One coffin stood alone in the corner and seemed to have been left untouched by the chaos. The villagers wrenched off the coffin lid, inside wrapped in mouldy clothes were what they assumed to be a vampire. Of course, it was Asmodeus, The Cannibal, and not some mythical creatures like what these idiots thought he was. Its eyes were cold and lifeless in the daylight, but a fresh pistol wound was gaping from the man’s chest. The villagers dragged the coffin and its ‘’demonic’’ contents out into the churchyard, and burned the lot to ashes, just to be sure he wouldn’t wake up at night... like some kind of Nosferatu.

Sinners go to hell. Remember that, mortals. ~Mordecai Asmodeus.


Yes, yes. What a weird story. But, what was Asmodeus's life before becoming such a horrible being – one that was feeding on the flesh of its kind?
Let the pendulum swing, as we shall say.

The flame of the candle flickered through the darkened hole of a window, the only evidence that the tiny cottage was occupied. Mammoth-sized rats had slowly eaten their way through the thatched roof, allowing the elements of nature to steal inside.
One of the braver rats had made himself at home by soaking up the warmth of the candle, his silhouette outlined as one watched in the distance, a shadow of mystery, of darkness.

Mordecai listlessly ambled towards the candle, acutely aware of the rat's presence, though not of the one that watched from afar. As he approached the rat, it did not move, it did not cringe, it did not twitch for it was accustomed to the young man's presence.

Nor did Mordecai fear the large, sparsely haired vermin, rather found him a comforting companion. It was lonely, locked in the cottage with no one about. Yet, he was safe here in this wooded haven of lost souls, which he had claimed as his home ten years gone by.

Due to a cruel and untimely act, he had found Mankind in his disfavour as a pianist, fleeing the city to clasp this solitary life. He had vowed never return to civilization, where people walked the streets ruler-straight, their hearts containing gluttony for personal objects, wealth, and gain - their gain. He had been famous at some point, yes – but he had been easily outshined by the greater artists of this world. Names such as Beethoven, Mozart, and the others were ruling the streets – and he, the poor Makyavel (Mordecai’s name as an artist) had been rejected from the public scene.

Humankind no longer existed, probably never had. Through his youth, he had envisioned what he had wanted to see in the people surrounding him, not what was really there. But, he could see it now. Monsters, all perfectly concealed monsters with tongues that were most times sharper than a razor's edge.

Yes, he could see so much now. Perhaps his solitude had rendered his sensitivity to a state of lofty awareness, being separated from society providing him with unique insight to the world around him. Mordecai collected his toothbrush that lay beside the candle, where the large rat sat juxtapose. Coming within inches of its gnarled teeth, it did not move, it did not cringe, it did not twitch.


Captivated by his youth, his beauty, and the methodical way that he was brushing the length of his teeth, the watcher leaned closer towards the cottage, trying to secure a clearer, wider view of his prey.

A sudden rush of excitement flooded his system and he fantasized over what was to come. The wait was almost too much; he imagined the rush of his blood, a face trimmed in fear, his lifeless body that he would render powerless - all of these things that would come to the night. He had a thirst for blood that he would soon fulfill.

Instinct had led him here, targeting the innocent victim that would soon satisfy this inner craving. He was repelled by society, a misfit, one with sordid ideas and desires that were unparalleled with mortal men. And in secret he filled his needs, his quenching for blood, for power.

His thoughts ran rampant through his contemplative mind like a tiny pebble skipping over a still lake, but he was suddenly jerked back to the present, to his prey in the distance.

The young man had made his way to the cracked window and was peering into the night, towards him - almost as if he knew he were here, lurking, waiting for that right moment to seal life from him, to drain his virginal body into a lifeless hull and to devour it slowly after. Pieces by pieces, as he always did.

Suddenly, he was gripped with a sense that he'd never felt before, for his eyes had honed in to his exact position, his eyes locking with his. He shook his head, realizing that his imagination was too great for his own self, on this drab, but promising evening.

He blinked only once, but he had vanished from the window and only a trail of smoke and the half-lit tail of the candlewick remained in the distance.

The smell of the woods filled his nostrils, as he hungered for human blood. There wasn't a sound to be heard within the circumference of the cottage; the wildlife could sense that danger toiled for the forest floor was as still as death.

In slow motion, he reached out and pressed two strong hands on the door and was shocked as it creaked open, taking its time to rest against the wall, silence settling in, once again.

Sadly, Mordecai did not wake right up at the sound. Only did the feeling of a cold breath against his cheek let him open his eyes. In agony he watched his head descend, catching the sharp white teeth just before they vanished into his neck. Locked in a delirium, he watched him fuel himself with his life-giving blood and flesh. Reaching for his bedside table, he came into contact with a hairy creature – his companion rat. Without even thinking about it, he rammed the little being into his face. The hairy creature bit and slashed the figure of the man until he let go off his prey. But it was too late to try and hunt him again, for Mordecai had reached his handgun that he was hiding in his drawer. One bullet, one pierced forehead, and he was down. Sadly, he had done more than mere neck damage – a lot of mental damage had been done as well. That night, his corpse disappeared and was never found again. As they say, after surviving the attack of a predator, one might turn into one of its kin as well.

Of course, some might say Asmodeus’s story looks like a vampire story. They would be right and wrong at the same time. Their history might look the same, but a Cannibal is far from a Vampire. They both feed on human’s flesh, but Asmodeus’s never had the amazing powers that came with being a Nosferatu. Or maybe I was just too lazy and took some of the history of another application I had.

So... Let the pendulum swing back to its initial position, where we last left it.

When consciousness finally came back to Asmodeus, he found himself quite surprised to rise again as a spirit. Not that he didn’t believe in such things as ghosts were; even if, during the 1800’s, both the Church and Science denied such beings. In fact, he was surprised that he still lived since, as the Church said, a murderer was directly sent to Hell. He saw the Chain of Fate attached to his chest, saw his ashes, and let out a loud howl filled with joy of being alive and anger of having been killed. Numerous times did Asmodeus tried to quench his thirst for blood upon these puny humans surrounding him while unaware of his presence; numerous times did he fail. A ghost could simply not touch a living being. He saw that the Chain corroded slowly and thought nothing of it; all that was on his mind was the will to survive, until the Chain was suddenly gone.

Asmodeus found the hollowfication quite amusing and pleasant. He still didn’t understand why all these changes were happening, but he was sure of one thing: he was evolving into a superior being, one that could finally let him hunt as he wanted and devour as much as he wanted.

Several nights would follow as the Hollow would continue his life upon the streets. Filth and scum, all surrounded about him as he cringed with distaste. His eyes peered cruelly at the world before him, for although his memories of a past life were banished from the recesses of his mind, the lingering hatred of humanity would remain engraved into his soul. Such pathetic creatures they were, squabbling for what little food existed, often murdering each other out rightly for properly, for greed and for wealth. Yet the times would change, as all things would indefinitely. Asmodeus gladly feasted upon every soul of these pathetic humans; his formal kins that, even during his life, was already feasting upon.

The rest of Asmodeus’s story is rather boring since it is the same as of all Arrancars. The Hollow feasted upon a growing number of souls until he met an other one of his ‘’kind’’. He gladly devoured it, sucking on its blood until there was nothing left of it, and passed through its Garganta. Finally reaching Hueco Mundo, he found a gigantic number of Hollows and feasted upon them too. There was nothing, no one, that could stop his carnage. His hunger for flesh was unstoppable. Asmodeus finally reached a level where he had to merge with others of his kin, but that new being kept his mind intact. In fact, HE was controlling that new being. And so, he continued his carnage. At last, after years and years of feasting upon being that were similar to him, where it seemed that he could not go on much longer, that he could not evolve into anything superior anymore, Asmodeus transformed into an Arrancar. The body of a human, the disappearance of his hunger for flesh, and a sword as a weapon... Evolution sure was strange.

Finally, he had reached a state of being that could surpass everything. Hollows, Gillians, Menos... All these creatures and weaklings could crawl back in their small shady holes and die. Nothing could stop him. Even though some beings had reached the same humanoid-like state as Mordecai, none of them two digits could compare themselves to him. Only later did Asmodeus learn that those were actually called ‘’Numeros’’ and only by fighting them did he learn about the existence of a white stronghold called Las Noches; situated within the eternal sands of Hueco Mundo. Thus, the Arrancar made his long and perilous travel to the exact center of this dark and arid region; leaving behind him a good deal of bloody corpses. A waste of soldier, one might say. One would be wrong. In fact, Mordecai had to ask for directions all along his appalling journey. The Arrancars were just terribly stubborn. In the end, Asmodeus reached the gigantic walls of Las Noches, only to be met by the Quinta Espada himself - a man filled with bloodlust; a man that did not listen to words and instead, took actions. Oblivious to the fact that Mordecai was simply asking to be part of this great organisation that were the Arrancars of Las Noches, the Quinta Espada fearlessly attacked him. A short battle ensued; a clash that was only seen before the eyes of one man – the Primera Espada. Both fighters did not even have time to release their resurrection. The encounter ended with the lifeless body of the Quinta Espada falling to the ground; its blood splattering the white sand of Hueco Mundo. The Primera had no other choice but to acknowledge Mordecai Asmodeus as the new Quinta Espada, even though the latter was unaware of the whole organization’s functions. A new soldier had been chosen.

It would be important to note that Mordecai was present in several important battles in the human world; as he loves getting part of such conflicts. He has notably been part of the battle of Somme in 1916 and the battle of Kursk in 1943. Indubitably, mortals were unaware of his presence - which is why he has never been mentionned anywhere.


RP Sample: Here's a sample from another site I've been RPing on.

On the devastated streets of broken dreams, where hope met with harsh reality, fragile souls were shattered to pieces. On the scarcely lit pavement of a marvelous town, abandoned lovers and lamenting poets were joining hands and set course towards oblivion - guided by a darkened sun and treacherous winds. The plunging limbers over the shattered track racketed with their rusty freight, stuck out like many crowns of thorns, and the rusty stakes like scepters - old to stay the flood of brutish men. The mystifying Assassin’s steps lurched over one of the sprawled dead human at his feet but pained it not - though its bones crunched, its shut mouth made no moan. It laid there, huddled, friend and foeman, man born of man, and born of woman, nobody go crying over it for night till night and now. Death had waited for every one of them all the time of their growth, fretting for their decay: now she had them at last! In the strength of their strength, suspended - stopped and held. What of him, who flung on the shrieking pyre, walked, his usual thoughts untouched, his lucky limbs as on ichor fed, immortal seeming ever?

The air was loud with death, the dark air spurt with fire and the screams and cries ceaseless were. There was one not long dead; his dark hearing caught the young man's far footsteps, and the choked soul stretched weak hands to reach the living word the far steps said, the blood-dazed intelligence beating for light, crying through the suspense of the far torturing ramble. Swift for the end to break, or the feet to break, the man cried as the tide of the world broke over his sight. Will he come? Will he ever come? But that was far from the Assassin’s task, for he was the one who had caused such despoil. Even as the stomps slowly faded away, with his tortured upturned sight, the oblivious killer heard the dying man's weak scream, he heard his very last sound, and his feet grazed his dead face.

There stood one of the most skilled murderers of the Land of Earth upon the streets of a small village on the outskirts of the Land of Water; Hazmat Laken Marv. The seemingly rich and prosperous settlement that used to be this so called village was now but a churned and dismantled image of what it used to be. Well, only part of it, of course. And there arose the indomitable man, stoic and erect against the fiery background of a once beautiful part of the center of the village, and to his feet laid a great number of shredded corpses and brutalized bodies. The populace had fought valiantly – as valiantly as would have any human being against an invisible and all powerful enemy. They were mere mortals, after all. Their moral was as easy to break as a desiccated twig in a great wasteland. How amusing had it been to see them try to flee and stomp their comrades just to stay alive. Scum, the lot of them. Most of them did not even deserve to live. They did not understand what it was to truly exist and survive in this cruel world of theirs. Men, women, children. None of them had attained something truthfully striking; a state of being that could have let them stay alive at this very moment.