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Name: Jetstream
Gender: Tom
Clan: BloodClan
Rank: Third Tier and Warlord
Apprentice: Demonicpaw
Difficulty: Extreme
~ I am the shadow on the moon at night, filling your dreams to the brim with fright!
[img width=470 height=350]http://i48.tinypic.com/1z6utsn.jpg[/img]
Picture by ѕнα✝тєя ~
OOC: Okay, so I've been wanting to take Jetty's satanic nature to a whole new level, and decided to use Necromancersoul, his undead mentor, to achieve this. Basically, Necro has been residing in a forgotten afterlife for some time, and has called it Hell. Though he kept it a secret, often wandering the fields to invite only his most trusted of souls. Anyway, he's finally gotten it popular with his fellow undead, as well as a few spirits of the pro-clans that he captured and will torture forever. So, Jetstream's become a loyal new member of this religeon, and if he everbecomes leader of BloodClan, in the many times he may be reborn, this will pretty much become the official clan religeon, if approved. Sooo yeah...take Afterlife Contact to a whole new level... ;)
IC:The barren land cracked as he stepped forth, one massive paw of pale ivory opening fissures that spewed streams of hot, molten flame and steam that clouded the sky with a rotted corpse smelling mist, painting the celestial realm in a blanket of crimson that rained down upon the land as warm, scarlet ink. From the great furrows so malavolently carved into the scarred Earth's crust, a chorus of screeches and satanic cackles caressed the hungry, fiery tongues, sending them reaching higher with a sinister dance. Soon, the dusty, brown sand ran like a red, slushy fluid, flowing around those murky paws to burn away flesh like acid, hissing and snarling at the towering, immortal devil of obsidian who's eyes so clearly mimicked the flames that grabbed at anything living. Screams echoed across the land, like tortured souls rising from the planet's core itself, bathed in magma, their bodies stripped of skin to reveal only abused muscle and bone, eyes glowing like embers as they took hold of the satanic overlord that had released them, bowing to him, chattering to him in dark, deathly voices and embellishing him in malavolent, ragged scars that they pulled apart with monstrous razors, spilling a life fluid as black as the fur of it's processer. The hellish eyes that stared out from the half mangled skull never blinked, only watched with incisors displayed in a malicious, twisted grin.
His paws left scorching prints in the crimson mud that had claimed the desert, their owner seemingly uneffected by the shower of flames that stretched for his pelt, biting at flesh and peeling it away with little effort. With entire bones displaying, chunks of fast rotting, burnt flesh hanging uselessly from strings of tendon and muscle, the horrible nightmare, nicknamed, The Satan, for that was exactly who he was, stepped upon a mound of skinned bodies that cried out in agony even as he clambered up to their crest, yet they didn't move. Now, ravaged and mangled, the creature spoke up, his terrible voice heralding an unavoidable doom, broad, crooked head stripped of ears, only small stubs of bloody membrane moved as Death's own black razors sank relishingly into the whipped flesh of the unfortunete souls that made up his podium, or as one might call it, a throne.
"Demons, devils, creatures forever damned, hear your master for who he is and fear him!" From a new, developing mist of black stepped a creature of darkness, it's ebony paw slipping from the rippling portal of the void to tug the newest monster into the hellish world beside the renowned Jetstream. Though it's fur was the deepest, most horror enthralling black one could imagine, shimmering with ethernal shadow, the eyes were not as red as one might expect. Instead, from a large, mangled head shone two bright glaciers, as intense as the flames that scorched the painted soil. "Behold, my king, the creator of this realm, Necromancersoul!" The Warlord's long time mentor raised his skull to part pronounced jaws, feeding a powerful yowl to the crown, that replied with a wave of psychopathic laughter. Jetstream was truly the Prince of Blood, heck, of hell, but he was not the king. Only it's Arch Demon, who's head dropped into a respectful bow as the prestigious tom spoke up.
"Yes, I come from the fields, but no longer do I wander there. Many of you have suffered here with no master, until many moons ago when I sent to you my most trusted of Princes. Since then, our land has been relativly secret, known only by devil worshipers and the terrible Jetstream himself. But soon, we shall become far more popular, we shall become the new Hell, and everyone will know of us. The fields will be bathed in my flame, with Jetstream leading as my champion." Cheers, of the most evil kind, hoots and howls that would have sent chills down the back of any normal cat, but not Jetstream. He had lived through many centuries, death and rebirth now simply protocal in each life that granted him access to the mortal plain. Now, with the celebration, the mighty Warlord threw his head back to give a insanity induced wail that rang with sadistic glee.
Then it was gone, the eerie light fading to a depthless black, and then, as two tired orbs parted, the light returned, though this far more natural then the realm of oblivion he had just experianced. With an irritated yawn, a jegged line of sharp teeth displayed to the world, the Third Tier rose to his now reformed white paws and studied them for a brief moment, his satanic gaze flickering with curiousity. The air was suprisingly cool, Jetstream hadn't slept in the caves, but upon the shelf that overlooked the river. He looked now toward the glittering diamonds that hung in the night sky, sneering at them, his mind a twisted knot of hatred and ambition. That was when he heard the soft sound of paws crunching on sand, and his head whipped back towards the earth to find the responsible frame of a fellow BloodClanner, a low growl rising into the relativly desolate air. Who dared disturb him, the Arch Demon of Hell?
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