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Name-Zariel

Age-Unknown

Birthplace-Aeilthiur

Birth date-Can't recall

Weapons-claws, wings, and small weapons that are manifested when needed.

Personality- Zariel is the closest thing to your child hood terrors, the boogey man or some other thing hiding in your closet is an accurate description. He loves to scare his prey by stalking them rather loudly, but when they turn he is gone. He holds no respect for authority until it proves itself worthy of respect; every one else is simply what he calls 'cattle'. He has seen two or three centuries pass now, and he has had multiple forms of culture that he has adapted to, because of this his mood may shift depending on his mood from a sixteenth century gentleman to a lowlife pimp.

Human form- He now resembled a human male, still six feet tall, but not half as frightening. He had a soft complexion matched by soft features, his face almost too feminine to be male, he had kept his eyes but dimmed them slightly, he wore his hair medium length and pulled back into a pony tail the end of which hung between his shoulder blades, his clothes were simple but odd: A black tee-shirt, a pair of red pants, black boots, a red jacket, and a red tie that was worn loose about his neck.

Devil form-It stood six foot tall, it's arms were spindly and ape like with clawed hands on the ends, it's body was covered in the hilts and blunt ends of blades that had been pushed into his body, it had a coned shaped head that was adorned by two pulsating green eyes, it also had wings, if they could be called that, they were no more than long extensions of skin and bone protruding from the things back, the feathers were swords ranging in size from b*****d swords to daggers that had been stabbed through the wings the space between the feather-like blades were shards pf glass, nails, and meat hooks.

Skills-

1. Pain as pleasure- being the personification of pain, Zariel finds that pain is truly that which must be appreciated. He responds to it very well, and from time to time takes an almost orgasmic pleasure in it.
2. Pain transference- the gift that keeps on giving. Hurt Zariel in anyway and his body will absorb it, amplify it and store it for later use. This pain is stored as energy with many of the same properties of electricity. The energy can pass through metal weaponry and armor but has a harder time getting through other materials. Zariel cannot send out this energy from more than a foot away unless he is in his full devil form.
3. Self manifestation- Zariel can easily shape shift, and often does change his gender to lure prey.
4. Body of blood- Zariels body is a manifestation of mainly blood. Though he has “bones” these are mainly illusions. He can easily bend and break, and is very willing to dislocate a shoulder in order to his you. His heart and head are his vulnerable points. His heart his the key of his power a his head is what stores his soul. If either is destroyed Zariel is forced to return to Hell.
5. Necroplasmic abilities- Through the use of necroplasm, Zariel can inflict some ranged damage. This rarely happens though, he likes getting personal. The necroplasms main use is to aid in the powering of his blood magic.
6. Blood magic- Zariel took studies in this art in both life and death and is very proficient in it. The art itself is mainly offensive, but also has regenerative uses. He can also take in blood from others to reconfigure his body in certain ways. I.E. dragon blood may give him extra strength or breath weapon.
7. Devil form- this is a last resort, when the true Zariel comes out. Though his heart is exposed, he is not at all weaker then before. The main reason being that his exposed heart can launch the pain from the organ, giving him a ranged advantage.
8. Devil properties- despite his human appearance, Zariel is a devil. Thus he has preternatural speed and strength. They are nowhere near super human. But mere mortals will have more then a hard time keeping him in their sights. He also has the elemental immunity to fire (This doesn't affect the pain felt; burning Zee does no damage, just gives him power.). He is also weak against ice and numbing cold.
9. Hell's royalty- Zariel is now more powerful than he ever was; he is all he ever will be.
10. Mastery- Zariel has now mastered sword and spell and is a formidable caster and warrior.


Spells known:

Snake strike- Zariel turns his tongue into a serpent, usually venomous, and opens hi mouth to let it strike( three foot reach)

Body transfer- Zariel goes boom, blood flies and recollects to form his body else where.

Blood missile- A lot like magic missile, but not. (Fires four missiles, minor damage and knock back for successful hit.)

Blood spines- fires small needle like projectiles from any sufficient source of warm blood as long as the blood in question is not in movement. (Blood from fresh cuts is unusable.)

Barrier- independently acting shield of blood capable of stopping many weapons and slowing projectiles.(Survives two hits)

Heal- This clots any blood flow immediately and hyper speeds the healing process, though this can only be used on small and perhaps moderate wounds, it is still useful.

Fear- Induces fear in a target for one round, depending on the person, this may cause only hesitation.

Sleep- induces sleep for one round if the target is tired.

Fireball- Boom. 30x30 radius.

Lightning bolt- yeah…

Multiple ray spells which do little damage or have status effects.

The History and Early Education of Zariel
As told by; Patrick Cosgrove


Ch.1-
Dissension


Drip, drip, drip. The sound rang in the boy’s ears like an angelic requiem. He sighed and smiled as he lay in his bed, his arm draped loosely over the side with a symbol cut into it. Drip, plip, plip. A shiver coursed down the small figures spine as the sound of a puddle forming beneath his arm rang throughout his dimly lit room. At that very moment, he was in paradise. The pain he felt was what he lived for and he enjoyed nothing more than lying in his bed at night with a thin trail of blood running down his arm and dripping off of the end of his middle finger. It was bliss, until of course the bleeding stopped and he had to go to sleep. He gave another sigh; this one sounded rather disappointed, bandaged his arm and went to sleep.
He awoke the next morning with all the rapture and zeal of a disgruntled tortoise. He lived in an academy for gifted children, and he was the only orphan, he lived there with all of the arch mages who served as the teachers and had only one friend. He ate in the mess hall with all of the other students, and he sat alone. After his morning meal he went to the north spire, and met up with his only friend, his tutor of the arts arcane. He was the only one in the entire academy who recognized the boy’s greatness when it came to the mastery of his art and had openly voiced how the boy’s potential far surpassed his own. He also regarded the boy’s obsession with pain as a window into his soul, not a mental disorder. The grizzled old arch mage had decided that the boy should finally learn what he would be talented in, the dark art of blood magic. The boy was ecstatic as his master pulled the dusty old tome off of the shelf and when it was laid in front of him he immediately opened it and began reading its contents with shining eyes. He selected a spell, and started it, he was driven by confidence, both his own and his mentors, he got cocky, and before he could do anything about it the spell had slain his master and decimated the northern spire. That done, he was immediately thrown to the streets, where they thought he would never survive.
How wrong they were, it seemed as though his tough seventeen-year-old body was made for the streets. He worked as a local street mage, doing this and that for people who needed the aid of magic he made enough money for two people to survive, and he lived alone. There was only one problem, the boy’s pain lust. It grew with him, and as he grew older, he grew bolder; he took the people of the streets torturing them and killing them, using their blood to practice his dark art of blood magic, and covering his trails with magic. One day however, his luck changed for the worse. It was A cold autumn night and he was toppling a young street girl, He had already knocked her off of her feet and he was about to stab her when the first crack of that accursed whip was heard and the first gash was opened along the boys back. The fight was short and the last thing the boy saw, before vowing vengeance and plummeting down, was a signet ring, bearing the Belmont family coat of arms and under it was inscribed the name; Bartholomew.
Minutes later he was surrounded by flame; he was greeted by thousands of grinning lesser devils and small cohort-ish demons. He was grabbed by the arms and hurled before a giant devil that stood at a podium with a book on it, he looked from the boy to the book and laughed, his sentence was grim. The boy was to relive the pain he had caused, and he would experience it until he could no longer bear it. He was burned and stabbed, torn and dissected, crushed and shot, broken and drowned only to look up at his captors with a smile on his face and an almost boyish laugh issuing forth from his mouth as he bellowed for more. This was the birth of his true form, the pain spawn.
After almost twelve decades of constant torture, he had changed. His masochistic soul had mutated into a vile devil and he had lost his grip on sanity. To all other inhabitants of Hell, he was a monster; to the lords he was a threat. However, to Mephistopheles, he was a powerful ally. They soon became very close; both of them sharing the same interests, the young boy even got to be tutored in blood magic by the eighth lord himself. The two devils shared a wanting to eventually take over Hell, but first the boys vengeance must be exacted. The devil lord patted his young companion on the back and revealed to him how to get back to the mortal realm. But before the lord of the eighth would allow him to leave, he would need a new name. The devil lord sat for a few moments in quiet contemplation for a moment or two, and then with a small laugh he stood and said. You need no new name; your current one suits you fine. A title on the other hand is what you need." The boy nodded, a sign showing he understood. He turned and began the journey back into life and from behind him; Mephistopheles spoke again with a smile on his face. "Go now, and seek your vengeance. Zariel: The suffering." And at that point the devil lord laughed a howl of victorious laughter. Soon with Zariel at his side again, Hell would be theirs.






Ch.2-
Zariel: The Suffering.


It started off so innocently, the spawn's birth into the mortal plane. No fancy pentacles, no sacrifice, no heretic priests, just the spawns willingness to return again to the mortal coil, that was all that was needed for a pain spawns birth back into life.
To passerby the rifts opening didn't appear out of the ordinary. It began with two thin coils of white and almost steam like smoke that wrapped and twisted themselves about each other like a pair of ghostly serpents dancing in the night air. The tendrils of smoke coiled themselves into a tightly packed column of pure white smoke, the column then widened and flattened to become a large smoky disc seven feet above the ground. The color of the smoke changed into a dark gray, and eventually into the blackest of blacks. And there it hung a disk of pure black smoke seven feet above the ground. The disk then began to change as it shrank and shrank, as it became, not only a different shape and color, but also a different substance completely. When the disk had finished its metamorphosis and had become a single drop of blood hung silently seven feet above the ground, it was the only one of the signs that would move. The blood started towards the ground as if dripping from the skin of some invisible giant's wound. As the blood slipped down to the ground it left a thin trail of blood in mid air. The blood hit the ground and nothing happened. For a few moments the line simply existed, but then eight circle-shaped spots appeared along the bloodline, soon after large scimitar shaped claws stuck out of them shaking with the effort of trying to tear open the line of blood that held him back from coming into the mortal realm. And soon enough, it succeeded. The line of blood flew apart revealing where the spawns true location was. Fire and brimstone rushed through the breach of time and space as the sound of thousands of never ending screams filtered through as well, and in front of the hole in reality stood the spawn. It was no more than the silhouette of the frightening figure, but still it sent chills down one's spine.
It stood six foot tall, it's arms were spindly and ape like with clawed hands on the ends, it's body was covered in the hilts and blunt ends of blades that had been pushed into his body, it had a coned shaped head that was adorned by two pulsating green eyes, it also had wings, if they could be called that, they were no more than long extensions of skin and bone protruding from the things back, the feathers were swords ranging in size from b*****d swords to daggers that had been stabbed through the wings the space between the feather-like blades were shards pf glass, nails, and meat hooks.
The thing took one step forward, and fell to the ground with a soft thump and a clatter of steel. Only after it was back into the mortal realm did the rip in reality close and the screams cease. The thing rose with a grunt, but it no longer resembled the monstrosity it truly was. The spawn now stood there in that alley, patting dust from its seemingly self-manifested clothing. He now resembled a human male, still six feet tall, but not half as frightening. He had a soft complexion matched by soft features, his face almost too feminine to be male, he had kept his eyes but dimmed them slightly, he wore his hair medium length and pulled back into a pony tail the end of which hung between his shoulder blades, his clothes were simple but odd: A black tee-shirt, a pair of red pants, black boots, a red jacket, and a red tie that was worn loose about his neck.
He leaned his head back and took in a deep breath through his nose before he let it out with a sigh and a smile. It felt great to return to the world of the living, he was a god among men, and his ego loved it. He closed his eye and smelled the air again, it was excellent if able his nose would have danced, the time for a pain spawn was definitely now, it was everywhere.
People slept in alleys slowly rotting away, a drunken mother beat her children, a son killed his friend for money, and a brother killed his younger sibling so his poor family could better his life. It was like a tapestry of finely woven silks to the pain spawn. His smile grew wider as his head laid back and his deep and smooth baritone voice roared in laughter. The time was right, and here he was. Zariel: The Suffering had returned.



Ch.3- the trials


Zariel returned to the nine hells soon after reappearing on the surface world. The Hunter Nikolai had disposed of him far too easily, granted, he had help. However, Zariel had still been beaten, and in Hell, that is unacceptable. But, the devil lord who had raised him, did not turn him away, instead Mephistopheles welcomed him back with open and powerful arms. Zariel looked into the eyes of his adopted father with longing, he had wanted to make him proud, wanted to do so much for him that was never done. Zariel, felt beaten, destroyed, and useless.

For a century he sat in solitude, letting his mind go over tome after tome of dark arts in Hells libraries. His mental abilities had failed him on the mortal plain, he’d be damned if he were to let it happen again. After one hundred years, his reading was complete, and he had read something that sparked his interest. He approached Mephistopheles with a ripped page in his hands, a page that detailed how a lord of hell, became a lord of hell. The trials of Dante. Mephistopheles smiled and told Zariel to get his rest, for the day after would begin the trials.

The trials consisted of nine parts, each part was delivered by the lord of each level of hell, but only six of the trials needed to be complete and the blessing of Tiamat could over throw one lord’s challenge. Zariel would begin his journey at hells first gate, where the lord of the first Baal met him. Baal is test was simple, a fight to the death, Zariel won by using his superior speed against the big slow lord. Baal was resurrected, and his blessing given.

The second blessing came from Dispater, second lord of hell king of knowledge. His test was simple, defeat him in chess. Zariel thought this task easy and set to playing. For three and a half years they sat at the small table, over ten million games had been played, and Zariel had yet to win one. Finally, Dispater slipped and Zariel saw his chance, he took Dispaters king and Dispater bestowed onto Zariel his blessing.

Next was Levistus, but before him came the queen of Dragons, Tiamat. Luckily for our hero, he and the dragon goddess were close friends and after scheduling a weeklong feast and having a three-day long dinner conversation, he asked for her blessing and she obliged. Zariel was thankful for this, because if he had gone toe to toe against her, he’d have never seen Hell again.

Levistus descended his icy throne as Zariel approached and clapped him on the shoulder as the two embraced as brothers. He then handed Zariel a sword and told him his task, defeat the lord in a fair sword fight. Once again, Zariel thought he’d be done by supper; three years later he was finally fast enough to graze the lord of the sixth. The graze on Levistus was rewarded by his blessing, and Zariel went on.

The next lord was Mephistopheles, and as one could guess there was no trial. Zariel used his personal relationship to get the eighth lords blessing with no work. However, his last task was much more difficult. He traveled into the lair of Asmodeus, king of hell, and asked for his blessing. Asmodeus declined but Zariel insisted. Asmodeus turned and attempted to use a powerful spell on Zariel, but his current reading rendered the spell useless. Asmodeus saw this and was amazed, he then bestowed his blessing upon Zariel and gave him a new title; Zariel the Suffering, Prince of the eighth, Lord of pain. As his christening was complete, the blessings of the lords took root. Baal gave him nine times his strength, Dispater nine times the wisdom, Tiamat blessed him with the constitution of a dragon, Mephistopheles made his charisma that of a true lord, and Asmodeus increased his intelligence nine fold. With that, Zariel ascended. Let the mortal plane quiver.