The pub’s door, marred from cants of flame and slices of steel, opened as a lone figure stepped out. A bolt of lightning flashed, foreshadowing the soft downpour of rain which tailed but moments after, lighting for a brief moment the face of the figure which now surveyed the countryside. Dressed entirely in black, the handsome young man looked to be around 19 years of age, with cold, ice blue eyes and a straight mane of jet black hair which was pulled back and bound into a pony tail reaching his shoulders. His face was strikingly clean-shaven, and he wore a modest but sharp black vest with no undershirt beneath it, revealing the hint of a muscled figure and his lean but deft arms. Blending him in with the dark surroundings of the pub’s exterior, his black cargo-style pants were tied with a strong dark belt, fastened with a platinum buckle. Flanking the man’s hips were dual daggers, ornate though sheathed, with long, thin blades kept gleaming at all times. Lastly, he wore a pair of hard black shoes, nearly dressy in appearance, but with enough of reality in them to accent his person.
Another bolt of light, and Satan reached into his vest pocket, removing a single pair of very dark shades before flipping them open and sliding them over his eyes. As he began walking down a now-runny dirt trail, Satan drew a gleaming platinum blade from the air at his waist where before had been nothing but space. With a single slice through the air, a vast rift tore through the fabric of reality and flared a bright blue light, inviting him to pass. He did so, without a hesitation, and the rift closed in on itself shortly after...swallowing him up and vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
As Satan exited the rift, he sheathed the Dyre Dagger and let it slip closed behind him, striding with a fluid grace through the great double-doorway to what appeared to be an enormous temple of expert craftsmanship. Satan took reassurance as he passed the threshold, knowing that none would dare trespass into the hallowed halls of the stryfe family.
Gigantic in stature, the stryfe halls were originally a temple, built by the finest craftsmen of a race long-extinct, presumably to pay homage to the God of the Night. The structure was stumbled upon by Satan himself, during his travels from realm to realm between his initial leave of Tyran and his second coming, and was fashioned entirely of a marble-like stone, which was a cool gray under the sun’s light yet faded to a jet black under the moon’s pale light. Many great chambers and rooms lay within the deserted temple, but none a prize so wondrous as the temple’s inner sanctum itself, which housed the soul orb.
Upon Satan’s first exploration of the building, he had come across the soul orb...though in a far different state than its current. Dark clouds and mists swirled over the bleak globe’s surface, whilst an entirely black dagger hung, suspended over the orb as if trapped in time. Curiously, Satan reached out to touch the relic blade, and so removed it from its place in the air. Upon his touch, the blade began to shift and color, becoming what his perception fitted it best at. In wonder, Satan ran his finger along the edge of the previously-dull dagger, to test its sharpness.
The blade sliced deeply into his finger at the first touch, and his blood spilt down onto the soul orb. With a wince and curse, Satan retracted his finger just before the building began to shake and rumble. He nearly fell but held his ground, as his droplets of blood began spider-webbing out all over the dark orb, causing it to flare a bright white as the essence sunk into its surface. Suddenly the dagger flared a bright light, akin to that of the sacred orb, and a silvery mist surrounded its gleaming platinum blade. A cleansing white flame swept over first Satan, then every inch of the temple, fed by his soul itself and healing his wound.
When finally the rumbling stopped, and Satan’s mind cleared, he blinked a few times and shook his head slowly against the disorientation. The soul orb now glew a bright blue light, and a perpetual silvery mist swirled over the blade of his dagger, which he felt an obvious, great, and personal link to. In silent amazement at what he had just witnessed, Satan knew it was time for his destiny to begin, and for his own family to come into existence. This was the beginning...of the stryfes.
