Post by daemon on Aug 29, 2011 20:50:50 GMT -5
Daemon's legs shuffled slowly from side to side as he was guided through the same dark corridor he had grown to recognize as the doorway between captivity and hell. It was a hated, yet familiar path to him. He could recognize and point out every crack in the otherwise dingy, yet smooth concrete walls, every blood splatter, every pile of feces. All the disturbing sights and smells all helped serve the purpose of letting those who were enslaved by the golden collars know that they could end up being nothing more than a blood splatter by the time they left they hallway.
The vampire's body ached with every step he made, immortality couldn't heal the wounds he had suffered from his time being captured and forced to fight in the Underground. His brown hair was matted with blood and his pale skin was covered in dirt and grime. Daemon was dressed in an old, used, over-sized shirt without sleeves, that showed off the permanent scars he had received from the bastards of a crowd who through holy water on him whenever it seemed he was going to cost them their bet. How many battles had he been in? Was it ten now? He asked himself mentally. "8-2", the vampire said quietly under his breath, making him receive a whip to his back and being told to shut up.
Daemon couldn't afford another loss. The old hag that had captured him told him that he might as well consider his life a baseball game. Three strikes and you're out. Being a vampire, dying was practically impossible in the ring, though you could be beaten into a bloody pulp where you weren't able to so much as blink until you regenerated. Unfortunately, three of those brutal losses and you were "put to sleep" by those who owned you. He was basically still a child, he couldn't even so much as fight, so needless to say his first two fights ended badly. The first time he just ran around until his head was ripped off by a lousy mutt. His captors tried starving him the second time but he lost nonetheless. Something inside of him broke that second time however
Daemon's dull eyes adjusted to the light as he stepped into the wide room filled with drunk vampires and werewolves, howling with excitement to see the next fight under way. Already in the caged ring, was a huge vampire that looked like he was a soldier in his past life, presumably a marine. The old hag released the leash that was tied onto his collar and gave him a wide smile, that was missing teeth. Her breath smelled like a garbage dumpster. "You better win this one you little runt, alot of people are expecting you to win this one. If you lose I'll burn you bit by bit until you're nothing but ash." Daemon nodded and walked into the cage, his hands still chained with handcuffs that had been blessed by some freak priest.
The cage swung shut and the crowd starting cheering. "Demon!" The nickname he had gained from his vicious victories in the underground, though he couldn't ever recall any of them. When the bell sounded the vampire charged after him, a sick smile on his face. Daemon's eyes widened and he ducked down, narrowly avoiding a fist to his face. He rolled under the huge adversary but unfortunately received a sharp kick to his side. A small yelp came from Daemon as he slid across the ring. Before getting the chance to get up, he felt himself get lifted from the ground and flung into one of the cage walls. "Shit!" the vampire yelled, arching his back in pain. This time, Daemon quickly got up and jumped towards the charging vampire. Daemon got behind him and used the chain on his handcuffs to wrap himself around the other vampire's neck. As if the choke hold was nothing more than a simple annoyance, the soldier-looking vampire, threw him onto the ground once again, stomping on him.
Daemon felt the familiar pounding headache, the surge of anger, fear, and embarrassment. His fangs slid out and his eyes seemed to brighten with energy. The vampire quickly snapped his head upwards and hissed at his enemy, before pouncing on him, looking the same, yet totally different.
The vampire's body ached with every step he made, immortality couldn't heal the wounds he had suffered from his time being captured and forced to fight in the Underground. His brown hair was matted with blood and his pale skin was covered in dirt and grime. Daemon was dressed in an old, used, over-sized shirt without sleeves, that showed off the permanent scars he had received from the bastards of a crowd who through holy water on him whenever it seemed he was going to cost them their bet. How many battles had he been in? Was it ten now? He asked himself mentally. "8-2", the vampire said quietly under his breath, making him receive a whip to his back and being told to shut up.
Daemon couldn't afford another loss. The old hag that had captured him told him that he might as well consider his life a baseball game. Three strikes and you're out. Being a vampire, dying was practically impossible in the ring, though you could be beaten into a bloody pulp where you weren't able to so much as blink until you regenerated. Unfortunately, three of those brutal losses and you were "put to sleep" by those who owned you. He was basically still a child, he couldn't even so much as fight, so needless to say his first two fights ended badly. The first time he just ran around until his head was ripped off by a lousy mutt. His captors tried starving him the second time but he lost nonetheless. Something inside of him broke that second time however
Daemon's dull eyes adjusted to the light as he stepped into the wide room filled with drunk vampires and werewolves, howling with excitement to see the next fight under way. Already in the caged ring, was a huge vampire that looked like he was a soldier in his past life, presumably a marine. The old hag released the leash that was tied onto his collar and gave him a wide smile, that was missing teeth. Her breath smelled like a garbage dumpster. "You better win this one you little runt, alot of people are expecting you to win this one. If you lose I'll burn you bit by bit until you're nothing but ash." Daemon nodded and walked into the cage, his hands still chained with handcuffs that had been blessed by some freak priest.
The cage swung shut and the crowd starting cheering. "Demon!" The nickname he had gained from his vicious victories in the underground, though he couldn't ever recall any of them. When the bell sounded the vampire charged after him, a sick smile on his face. Daemon's eyes widened and he ducked down, narrowly avoiding a fist to his face. He rolled under the huge adversary but unfortunately received a sharp kick to his side. A small yelp came from Daemon as he slid across the ring. Before getting the chance to get up, he felt himself get lifted from the ground and flung into one of the cage walls. "Shit!" the vampire yelled, arching his back in pain. This time, Daemon quickly got up and jumped towards the charging vampire. Daemon got behind him and used the chain on his handcuffs to wrap himself around the other vampire's neck. As if the choke hold was nothing more than a simple annoyance, the soldier-looking vampire, threw him onto the ground once again, stomping on him.
Daemon felt the familiar pounding headache, the surge of anger, fear, and embarrassment. His fangs slid out and his eyes seemed to brighten with energy. The vampire quickly snapped his head upwards and hissed at his enemy, before pouncing on him, looking the same, yet totally different.