Welcome to The Duality of Man, an original animanga role-play that features numerous supernatural creatures. Unfortunately, these various species have distanced themselves because of the war that occurred thousands of years ago, plaguing some with eyes that only see their dualism. While others meddle themself with their differences, two groups fight, each attempting to eliminate the other in for their definition of worldly peace. These two groups of the Terror Response Syndicate (TRS) and the Assembly of Phantoms (AP). With individuals fighting merely over their differences, it brings uncertainty to the outcome of this war.
We happily accept all role-players as long as they obey the rules and are capable of meeting our word count of 50. This does include those who are unfamiliar with this style of role-playing. The staff of The Duality of Man are willing to happily help those who are new to the role-playing world so they feel comfortable on site. Feel free to message the staff if you need help, they can be found here or in the site Discord and will gladly answer questions alongside calm concerns. If you have any suggestions we would love to hear them; guests may use the support board as a suggestion area as well. Should you decide to join, may I say welcome to the site and we all hope you enjoy your time here.
Yours Truely,
The Staff
season
Summer 2024
Heat has broken through into a glorious summer. The snow has entirely dried through the spring, leaving to the brilliance of the warmer months. Terror activity has risen as people are brought out of their homes, leaving the TRS in a position of consistent work. Each are attempting to maintain victory in the endless struggle for power.
Since the wonderful members of TDOM enjoy the site enough to play around on it, this thread is to assist with the site's tidying! Functionality is important and we want to make the site functional even if its activity will be minimal at best!
It was dark in the outskirts of Lorsette. A layer of fog had settled across the cemetery, shattering the light of the stars twinkling above long before they reached far enough to guide Mikaela's path. She didn't need them to see. She didn't like the dark and the fog felt oppressive, but she's learned to push aside such irrational fears long ago. It was the stillness of the night that dug beneath her skin, tightening around her stomach like a slimy snake.
It was a bad night to be out and about, but no matter how much Mikaela tried she couldn't stand the thought of staying inside. Sleep had long since evaded her and pacing around her apartment had gotten boring. There was nothing worse than boredom. She'd rather wander a spooky cemetery in the middle of the night. In fact, as she stalked through the rows of headstones, footsteps as silent as the night around her, she felt like a phantom passing through.
There was nothing here for her to change. There was nothing for her to do but observe the hollow names of people who had come before. Rachel Larson. Zachary Wicks. Lily Thorne. The actual names had little meaning to her beyond the letters written in stone. She rarely bothered with names when people were alive, but there was something haunting about seeing them like this. Each name belonged to what had once been a real person, but all that remained was the tiniest echo as proof that they'd existed. If some of these names had been made up no one would be able to tell the difference.
Sofia Lye. The name caught Mikaela's attention and she paused in front of the simple headstone. It was an old one. She'd wandered deeper into the cemetery than she'd thought, past all the newer, fancier, cleaner markers into what remained of people that had truly been forgotten long ago. Sofia Lye. A beloved mother and sister. She must have been a relative. Then again, Mikaela had never really considered her blood in Canada to be real family. They'd abandoned her to her life, so they held no sway over her now. As silently as before, she continued her silent procession down the line of headstones, doing her best not to upset the disturbing balance of the eerie night.
Once again, the reaper found himself in an area where the deceased were buried, again looking for the names or titles of those that used to have a good life in poetry or music. He was running out of muse, and this was the only time of day he could freely roam without the nuisance that was large crowds. The lit disk in the sky shone down on his white attire, making him look like the polar opposite of what he was.
Salem decided that tonight he could afford to switch up his fit, and so he was dressed in something more holy as to not disturb anyone wandering around paying their respects. Still, with the brighter wardrobe, he never left without his long sword and firearm at his hips, concealed as they always were, however he highly doubted he’d need them for more than one reason, all of them selfish in nature.
One hand in his pocket, he slowly wandered around the yard, brushing his hand on each head stone, quickly inspecting each one. Most were new, a lot more were chipped, and the rest were dated. Whoever built them clearly had no idea what they were doing, else they would accommodate for weathering and erosion. Continuing on still, he found not one name he recognized. Were there really no artisans buried here?
Suddenly stopping, Salem turned towards one particular stone, quite literally just a stone in the ground and not as refined nor neat as the others. Glancing back, he realized he’d been walking a bit faster than he intended, lost in his thought about the design of the markers. Turning back to the stone, he inspected the name only to find it illegible. He made a mental note to return here and attempt to fix it before noticing someone else with him in the cemetery, just rows across.
A woman, from what he could make out, with hair as dark as the night around them. Firstly hesitant, the musician thought over his options. Maybe they were looking for an artisan as well, and if not, they might know of one who once lived themselves. It’s just one person present, so he decided to ask. Remaining where he was, he spoke in an audible, but soft voice, his intent not to startle them. “Greetings, do you have a moment?”
Mikaela may not have been at peace surrounded by darkness and fog, but as another voice intruded on her thoughts any idea of tranquility was gone. She took half a step to turn around, putting herself in a more defensive position as casually as possible. She hadn't been paying much attention to her surroundings, but she hated the idea of someone being able to sneak up on her.
She was faced with a figure clad in white that stood out starkly in the somber setting. Graveyards were a place for the buried to wear white, not the mourners. She brushed the thought aside. A lot of people didn't consider where they were going when they chose their outfits and, even if it had been an intentional choice, it didn't really matter.
She reviewed his words in her mind. They seemed innocent enough, but they could have been carefully chosen for how little they revealed about what he wanted. "That depends on who I'm talking to." Her accented voice echoed across the all but empty field of graves, reaching no one but her new company and the animals that stalked the night. If this came down to a fight, as many of her conversations in abandoned locations seemed to, she doubted there was anyone that would hear a scream. Whether that was a good or a bad thing, she wasn’t sure. "If I have any trouble with you, now really isn't the time."
She glanced at the lines of stone surrounding them. "Or the place. I’ve noticed a lot of people don’t respect the dead half as much as they should." The man didn't look like he wanted conflict either, but it could be hard to tell. Mikaela had far more enemies than friends and she wouldn't recognize half of them by face. It was how she preferred to live her life. If she didn't have a reason to be on guard she'd just be paranoid about nothing. That didn't mean it didn't wear on her at times, though.
Nodding his head, Salem felt a hint of guilt within him. He completely forgot to introduce himself, as he usually does when speaking to a stranger. Whether or not that was a wise decision he didn't truly care at the moment. There are very few in this world that are both hostile and remorseful for the deceased, and because of that, Salem felt no need to be on the offensive.
"My apologies," Salem began, leaning on a nearby grave, "My name is Salem..." Always, he found himself hesitating to speak his full name, the burden of having it still a fresh wound on his soul. Regaining himself, he continued, "I am awandering requiem artisan, so to speak," Just like his greeting, his words were soft spoken. "However, if I must say, if I wanted trouble with you, which I certainly don't, I would have began the beginning of this song with something more sharp."
Following her quick glance, he again nodded, this time producing a small smile at what she just said. To the musician it was nice to know that there were people in the world that still are somewhat respectful of the dead. He found himself relaxed more than he was a few moments ago, juggling the idea of making what he is known to his conversing partner. "I agree wholeheartedly, being one of the unfortunate deceased myself." Running a hand through his hair before reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small journal, waving it in the air. "This, along with my two side weapons, are all that I have on me, if that gives you any closure. I mean no ill intent right now." Salem, not wanting to linger on the subject of conflict or disrespect anymore than had to, stood upright and dusted himself off. He began to approach closer, stopping at the second closest stone and dropping his journal on it.
He hoped that at a closer distance, she could see him more clearly. He was well aware that this put him at a disadvantage, however if a fight did ensure, the tides would very quickly turn. A place of rest such as this, filled with so many corpses, is the last place anyone would want to fight a reaper.
Salem. She didn't recognize the name, which was probably for the better. She brushed it aside. She really didn't like names. Unless she was looking at a target they were useless to her, and she'd long since retired from that life.
He went on talking, words picked with a sort of eloquence that was rare in the modern age. If they were speaking Italian she might be able to pick up on the difference in speech patterns and estimate how old he was, but she had no such advantage speaking English.
"Not all who are deceased are unfortunate." she said as he walked closer. She scanned his face, looking for any minute details that could tell her more about him. She hoped her words were true. After all, she was the reason plenty of people had crossed to the other side of life.
"I'm Mikaela, a pleasure to meet you." she relented, falling back on polite words. Such frillyness was bothersome at most, but the man seemed like the type that would appreciate it and she didn't want to come off as rude. At least, not until she knew who he was and what he really wanted. She had plenty of fake names she could have supplemented, but something told her he wasn't in a line of business that could get her in trouble. Otherwise he wouldn't bother trying to throw him off his track with such obvious reasons he wasn't a threat. Besides, a 'wandering requiem artisan' was a bit too unique to be made up.
Her gaze trailed across his frame, casually leaned against a gravestone as it was. It might just be true that he was even more comfortable with death than her. "What brings you to a place like this? Did you know anyone here?" She doubted that was the case. It was too late for silly sentimental mourners to be dropping by. His purpose was probably darker.
"I have not met a single person who had an up tune beat in Purgatory nor in the districts..." Salem recalled all of the condemned, miserable, and undead things he came across along his journey, himself included... Maryam especially, a particular spirit he was fond of who did NOT have a fortunate passing. He attempted to hide the visible pain in his eyes by averting them towards the ground.
Upon hearing her name, and the elegance in her voice, he came to a near immediate conclusion, a bit of light returning to his eyes. "Mikaela, a very unique and respectable name. I'm sure plenty of wonderful songs have been made about you, be they songs of elegance or songs of utter despair." While speaking, he took the chance to inspect her person, noting that her clothing weren't nearly as overly neat as his, and wondered what she did for a profession. Upon being asked why he was here, and if he knew anyone buried, he gestured towards the far more older head stones around them.
Personally, Salem knew quite a few in this graveyard, he was sure he ended a few himself, however none were the artisans he was looking for. Salem brushed a hair out of his face and focused his energy into his eye, turning it its usual crimson red. He felt his strength return to him, and with it, his sight. With now newfound sight, he noticed just how nice Mikaela's eyes were, almost as dark as his own. He didn't know whether to feel conflicted or intrigued, there was something off putting about this person that Salem couldn't figure out.
"I'm looking for an artisan to gain muse from, but cannot find any," he began, snapping his fingers. As he did, the earth a few graves away from where Mikaela stood shook and unearthed, a withered, boney hand crawling from night lit ground. Raising a brow at the corpse, Salem realized it was missing it's entire lower half, making the musician sigh lightly. "As for if I know anyone present, that one over there is one of the many I do remember." Making the corpse wave his hands in the air in greeting before allowing it to return to the ground from which it came, he smiled. "Do you, Ms. Mikaela, know someone here, and by chance, are they an artisan of sorts?" His question was sincere and as calm as he could possibly be, his red and black eyes now gazing at the lady in front of him with interest.
As Salem spoke something familiar fell into his eyes. It was something that Mikaela didn't want to dwell on, so she distracted herself by responding to his statement, perhaps revealing too much of her hand in the process. "I have met many people who aren't permitted a trace of happiness. I'd much rather be truly dead than clinging to a false belief that surviving and living are the same thing. Besides, I find it hard to believe the monsters over there are as cruel as some of the people here."
Mikaela teetered between tensing up and laughing as he analyzed his name. She wasn't sure whether it was meant as a compliment or an insult so she settled on a gracious smile. Any songs written about her were under a different name. She'd been a much different monster in Italy, and she was sure there were few nursery rhymes still circulating about a wraith of a girl hunting the streets for children out past their bedtimes. Not that she ever would have bothered with such targets. Rumors about her back home had exploded into its own creature, a constantly shifting overestimation of her talents that had always managed to keep her safe from those stupid enough to believe them.
Her memories were distracted as Salem began on again, giving as good an explanation as any but not one that really interested her. It was the display he put on, raising one of the nearly disintegrated corpses from beneath them to say hi. A reaper. It made her look at him in a new light. He could be a truly dangerous man. If he'd been raised right, or wrong as most people would see it, he would have been a thing of beauty, sewing a tangled web of cruelty and deceit. Someone like him could be a wonderful lab rat. Alas, it seemed he was more innocent than all that.
"I think there was a man closer to the gate who fancied himself a rapper, but I don't know if that could have been considered art. Not the way he did it." she rolled her eyes. He was the cousin of one of her former targets and her intel had put him in his early grave. Maybe if he'd been given the time to grow up he would have become something half decent, but as it was he'd simply been annoying. "I've only been in this country a few years, the best local artisan I could tell you about, dead or alive, would be myself." she admitted with a disappointed shug.
"Hmm..." Salem thought about the mentioned artisan, the rapper that apparently did not have much good taste, if Mikaela's word was anything to go by. "I will keep the rapper in mind, thank you." With that, Salem gave a small, yet respectful, bow.
With eyes that reflected the heart, Salem simply looked down at the shorter girl with sorrow, his smile faded. His expression was now its usual dull, and emotionless shade of grey. Did she truly believe that? Surely she didn't mean it, as a humanoid such as herself who had not experienced the other side wouldn't know of it's beauty... nor it's terrors. Regardless, if that is what she truly believed, he would oblige.
Salem focused more of his energy into his now glowing red eye, and as before the ground parted, but this time a good distance behind them. Salem believed in following the ebb and flow of life's music, only granting death to those that deserved it, and while he may not go all out the vast majority of the time, he wasn't above taking the souls of others for the purpose of an artistic high of some sort. Briefly thinking back to the child killing behemoth he slayed a time ago, Salem spoke slowly as fifteen fresh corpses walked towards them at a rather quick pace.
"That is a very strong belief you hold, Ms. Mikaela. I am curious to see how sure you are of yourself." He then turned to the side to reveal the mass amount of undead scurrying towards them. "If you believe that the ones over there are not as cruel as the living, I offer you a chance to see for yourself." On a normal day, if one knew Salem well, they would assume he was joking, and brush this off as cruel humor, however tonight the musician was as serious as the grave he was standing on. Besides, he didn't joke often anyway.
"There is a chance they will close the curtains early on your life's stage performance, I have to admit, and I will not interfere," Grabbing his journal again, he began to write down a simple statement: Mikaela. Part I. Artisan, Living or Deceased... Glancing at the dark haired individual, Salem coldly stated, "In that particular case you do decide to walk over there and meet death, I will have found the deceased artisan I was looking for, and I swear on the Esmeree name I will ensure your grave's header will not fall into disrepair."
Of course, Salem didn't expect her to move an inch. The only ones who did, when given a similar choice, were all suicidal. Instead, he readied himself for the chance that she did literally anything else. A living artisan was better than a dead one after all... Overly curious to what this newly discovered artisan would do, he merely waited as the undead marched, in rhythm, towards them in the grim setting.
There was a shift in the man across from her into a plane of seriousness that excited the adrenaline-seeking addict inside her. That promise of danger she'd given up on a moment ago returned. He was planning something and the tension built in her as he formed pretty words meant to distract from whatever he was setting up.
He stepped aside to reveal the army he'd amassed behind him and an unintentional smile twisted her lips. She returned her attention to him, waiting for him to explain the rules of his game as much as he wanted before jumping in. He'd set the stage for a death scene and offered her the leading role. From his position in the director's box, he was in no danger whatsoever. It was exactly the type of thing she'd set up for someone else. He was even taking notes on her performance.
Her smile faded as she considered whether to take up the gauntlet. She had only come here in the first place because she was bored, but a gamble was only fun is both sides ran the risk of losing something. Since that wasn't the case here, she'd just have to raise the stakes for both of them. "Very well," she said, bringing her etiquette lessons back as she curtseyed to begin her performance. He controlled death and in a stadium like this it gave him a bit too much of an advantage, but the only thing more plentiful in this graveyard than corpses were shadows and that was her domain. His first mistake was starting this fight without testing her own abilities.
She felt them pooling on the ground around her, clustered around the crumbling headstones Salem seemed to so despise. With a careful touch, she forced movement a few stones down within Salem's view. "If you get your army, I get mine." He wanted a show and she'd give it to him. Shadows continued to move behind her in planned motions. She brought them to a halt as she approached Salem's army, a cool confidence in her posture. She paused directly in front of him, letting her hair flip over her shoulder as she turned to face him. "I won't force you to bother with them, though. Not unless you make it necessary."
She wasn't sure he'd fall for it, but it should be enough of a risk to keep him from cheating at the very least. Her hand reached into her thin jacket, pulling out one of her favorite knives. She made a point to draw it a bit too close to his skin before continuing forward toward the army. She didn't intend to truly fight. As she'd hinted at before, she did respect the dead. Cutting them up would be rude. But this would be a wasted opportunity if she didn't play at all.
Witnessing his subject of the night smile in the dimly lit graveyard made Salem cock his head. Smiling. That... was not one of the reactions he was expecting. Now fueled with interest, he returned a smile. He found his muse, and he was not going to let it go now. Continuing to write in his journal about the wonders of his muse, he allowed the undead to approach at a more rapid pace. He was of course aware that he could not keep this up forever, and he was of course on a time limit before he had to rest his eye... but tonight he was willing to push his self inflicted and bodily limitations just a bit.
'Very well.', said the artisan before him- and with a curtsey as well! "You are quite the someone!" the reaper said with sincerity, slowly gaining more and more respect for Mikaela's antics. He looked on, waiting for her first song, and waiting he did not do much of, as quickly he found himself staring at the withered rock not far from where he stood, in clear view, made clearer by his crimson eye. This did nothing except amaze the musician even more. "An army... of darkness? What a requiem! I must say, if I didn't know any better Ms. Mikaela, I would say you were trying to impress me..." Salem's expectations were now at an all time high. Perhaps it was just him wearing white today, or perhaps it was the music he made weeks prior to this moment that put him in such a mood. Whatever it way, he had not felt this rush in a long time since he questioned Leonardo.
His smile almost faltered as she grew closer. He remembered that all reapers have an aura of fear around them, and unfortunately he had no way of turning this off. As she and her shadows halted right in front of him, he merely watched, looking down with grim wonder at the seemingly sassy young lady. She was rather close indeed, close enough to mock cutting him. He thought nothing of it, as without needing to see her soul's true colors, he sensed no real danger from her. "Watch the suit," he said in a calm, yet again, serious manner.
As she continued onward towards death, Salem had an idea. Laying a cold hand on her shoulder if he were able, he reached to his hip and unfastened his long sword he had on his person, the sheath as white as his fit. With a masterful motion, he offered the blade to Mikaela. "There's going to be an encore to this performance provided you survive the choir, and that little knife will do you no good against it. I do apologize." Salem was now sprouting a full on smirk as he thought back to his encounter with Xia, and how he somehow managed to obtain a very useful soul out of it. He did indeed learn from everyone he met. Mikaela seemed like she wanted to be an entertainer in his show, and he was going to play his part as director. "Your army of darkness will of course be effective.. I hope, for your sake. I wouldn't want you getting squashed, Ms. Mikaela."
With those words, and regardless of what happened, Salem took a few steps back as to not mess up his suit nor get gore on his person. "Of course this is all up to you. Declining would not mean offense against me, this is only a miniscule display of prowess, and most would not want to face the soul of a giant." His words, as most of them were tonight, were sincere and truthful. He still had no intention on going all out. He never did. With a snap of his fingers, and without any further words spoken, he made the mass of undead charge at the lady of shadows while he took notes on the nature of her army.
There wasn't a trace of fear on Salem's face. Rather, her own excitement seemed to be reflected back at her. He didn't even flinch at her minor knife threat. She wasn't sure who was the cat and who was the mouse in this game. She was still testing his wits, but the plan forming in her mind ensured their playing wouldn't get her killed at the very least.
A hand landed on her shoulder, sending a chill through her. For half a second her smile faltered, but she pasted it back on a moment later. She'd always operated better on fear than anything else. She stayed on her toes, ready to slip away as he drew his sword, but it wasn't necessary.
She took the sword and twirled it in her grip, testing its balance as he went on speaking. An encore? She wasn't sure whether she'd stick around for that yet, but she hoped she could. Things were just starting to get fun. No one had really bothered to play with her since she'd 'retired' from her work with a local mafia.
She returned her attention to the blade and the task at hand. It was a double-edged sword. She wasn't a fan of such large weapons, but it was little different than a spatha and her father had ensured she knew how to wield that ancient roman weapon as well as any other. Whether it came in handy in the fight or not, she'd accept the gift.
"You're awfully arrogant, sir. It's ok, though. It reminds me of all the other arrogant bastards I've taken down a peg." She would have stayed and talked longer, but her cue was coming up and she couldn't afford to delay until they made it all the way here. She wanted to test Salem's limit and some distance would be a key feature. "I think we'll be fast friends, I've just gotta take care of this real quick first."
She plunged herself into the small sea of dead bodies, weaving amongst their ranks in quick, planned moves to position them between her and Salem. Shadows trailed after her, blocking some of Salem's vision. If he was the one in control that should be an advantage. "Tell me, Salem. What do you plan for the end of this act?" she asked, beginning her careful tests of the waters. How distracted could he get without losing control of his army? Her gaze was still fixed on the army, ready to dip and dodge as soon as any of them struck, but her mind was wandering to the experiments she could run.
"Arrogance is the mark of daring individuals, their flair on the stage and with an instrument at their whim is simply outstanding, do you not think the same?" Salem, as he was speaking, was busy writing in his journal. He had plenty to jot down, and so many poems, hymns and songs to write about tonight, all thanks to his muse. His attention wasn't divided however, as he could easily control the reanimated as if he was playing a game and he had cheat codes. "Truly a modern desperado..." Salem proclaimed, referring to both her remarks and her performance. He had no business responding to being called a bastard, as he was one by its definition. Not in its pure form, but something far more and far less at the same time.
Looking up from his written word at the signal that things were about to begin, he watched with anticipation, nodding in approval as his muse danced around the corpses as if she was indeed on a stage. Her movements were graceful and light, soft staccatos on half notes her feet were.
If Salem meant any real harm, he could easily collapse his posy of undead onto her, and fire his handgun as a climatic finale... but where was the taste in that? Where was the buildup, the construction of notes that wove perfectly into the masterful end? It was non-existent, and not only that, Ms. Mikaela was not deserving of such an end, meaning the reaper could take his dear time in learning from his muse without the worry of her turning on him. As he stated, even if she did, he could easily learn from an undead muse.
Then, he noticed the long note of darkness at her heel. She did indeed command the shadows as in requiem, and said darkness began to block his vision of the performance, much to his irritation. Lightly sighing, he began to more accurately control the corpses that were on the other side of the mass of shadow, their movements now being more precise and accurate. Them being fresh corpses helped in this manor, making them able to keep up with the commands he gave them. While he did this, he responded to the shadow lady.
"The ending of this act will be your facing off with Scabrithe, the unfortunate giant currently being punished by my wrath in grimace Purgatory... the finale is a show of overlaying abruptness, agility, and gracefulness. As you were..." His words were carefully spoken, and as he spoke, he crossed his arms. He couldn't see what was happening too well from his own eyes, however his necromancy was not to be underestimated. He ensured any corpse that fell was not replaced, but the remaining grow more rapid in movement.
"If you wish to proceed to the final act of course, my muse."
As the reanimated zombies continued to come at her, her real attention remained fixed on the reaper in charge. She continued her smooth dance, of course, trickling in and out of the mass of bodies like blood. The blade moved where it had to, but she made sure to strike with the flat side of the blade rather than either of the edges. She had no interest in killing, even those who were already dead. It would be such a pity to cut them up any more than they actually were, and this was a good exercise for balancing her enhanced speed. She could have moved faster, but she didn't want Salem to know that. Her true limits were none of his business.
"Ooooh sounds scary" she mused in a sing song voice. "Tell me, are you so flattering to all ladies, or did I just happen to catch your eye?" She lost a moment as she cast a glance towards him and one of the corpses got a bit too close, scratching at her skin and tearing through to the first bit of crimson in this potentially endless fight.
If blood had been drawn it was about time to change the game. She covered the field with a dense darkness and with a few careful steps she made it over a particularly large branch of a fallen tree, putting her a few feet further from Salem. She knew it wouldn't buy her much time, but it was enough to pull the jacket tight over her shoulder and cover the red drip. She hated leaving her blood lying around and she doubted she'd have the time to pay attention to the open wound. All at once, she dropped the shadows she'd placed on the battle field. It was a cheap trick and one she could use with a much more delicate grace if she wanted to. She got the feeling her new friend would much rather see that.
"You know, your arrogance isn't worth much if you aren't willing to put yourself in the way of the impact. These dolls are-" her words were cut off as she dipped under an extended limb but she didn't loose track of what she was saying. "Pretty, but they'll get boring after a while"
Salem laughed at her lovely mockery. "Neither," he responded plainly, "You are just an excellent artisan, that's all, and it's something I can respect-" The moment he sensed that blood was drawn, Salem's face twisted, and he stopped before he could finish his sentence. Blood, while artistic in it's own nature, had no room on any word he does. He absolutely disliked blood for all it was and the pain it causes, and especially if it gets on his clothing. It was a symbol of one who had no control, or one who wished the worst on their enemies. However in this case, it was not his own blood that was caught on his radar, it could only be Mikaela's.
Momentarily halting every living corpse on the yard, the reaper walked around the shadows blocking his view, wondering if it was the end of Mikaela's tale, only to be greeted by a graveyard of dense shadows. Calmly looking into the darkness, he put a hand on his hip. "Interesting," he retorted. She certainly didn't turn invisible, else he would be able to clearly see her. Waiting where he stood for the shadows to inevitably dissipate, he then spotted his fellow artisan up top a fell tree. She certainly wasn't deceased, he noted, but she was wounded a small bit. Did she overestimate her grace?
Thinking on what she just said to him, he shrugged a lone shoulder. His time was nearly up anyway. "I suppose you're right." With those words, every corpse dropped, returning to the world from which they came. "A performance is supposed to touch the heart, the very soul itself. It's supposed to be personal to all who view," he began, reaching for his firearm, pulling it out and loading it. "As of now, all we have been doing is keeping our distance..."
The requiem reaper then focused the remaining magic he had in his eye and, with the wave of his hand, opened a breach to the realm of the dead behind him, the amount of power put behind it straining him to the point that he was nearly on his knees, but remained on his feet somehow. It was his first time pulling a soul straight from Purgatory, and he should have tested this before he wandered off tonight, however now was as good a time as any.
"As to not bore you further, let's proceed to the final act. Would you like to dance with the reaper or it's giant backup dancer?" Regardless of his new aquaintance's response, Salem would be at a disadvantage either way with his main power on cool down. Still, he was confident in his ability to either match or outmatch her. If she chose the giant, his work was cut out for him, and all he needed to do was bide his time. Glancing behind him at his own shadow, he reminded himself that things could go south extremely quickly. "What an amazing circumstance, who would have guessed that two artists would be playing in their home field, it being one and the same? What a twist. I do ask that you refrain from killing me."
Salem himself didn't know if he meant that as a serious note or a joking one, considering that both of them could easily end the other. The question was if they were going to, and if not, how long would they play in this dangerous opera?
"Aw, that's how anyone with a crush would try to play it off." Mikaela teased him. Of course, she doubted he truly had any fondness for her. She was pretty sure she could see through him. He was like her, looking to have fun with whoever he happened across and he'd unwittingly met his match.
At his word, her enemies fell limply around her. She delicately picked her way out of their ranks, returning to the open field. She was right? Her heart beat faster in her chest, warning her that whatever trap he was setting up wouldn't be pretty. She continued at her leisurely place until she came to a stop at a particularly large and extravagant gravestone, leaning against the cool marble.
He removed a gun from its holster and made a show of loading it. Each click of metal against metal felt too heavy. She didn't like guns. They were cheating and so impersonal. Her father had tried to knock the ridiculous mentality out of her, but it had never worked.
There was a shift behind Salem as he manifested something else with his abilities. This must have been the endgame he'd been building up to. Her attention remained fixed on the reaper. Was it her imagination or did this show of power weaken him? She'd be disappointed if he was reaching his limit already.
Surprisingly, he posed the option to her. Was he really willing to put himself on the line? As he continued on with his musing, something in his words froze her blood more than the hulking giant behind him. Their home field. It was bold of him to assume they had absolutely anything in common. "This isn't my home field." she informed him cooly. "Fighting isn't my home field and, in case you couldn't tell, I try to avoid killing." She motioned to the intact corpses lying around her. "It's just fun giving a good performance to someone who knows how to appreciate it, wouldn't you agree?'
With that out of the way, her more serious demeanor was replaced with another smile. "But the show must go on, so tell me. If I choose to fight the reaper are you going to use that gun? I've always been fascinated with dancing with death itself, but those things make things so cut and dry."
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The skin is created by Wolf of Adoxography and Gangnam Style. The thread and conversation remodels are by Kagney. The Strange Reality board list, Heal My Soul info center, I Remember Now mini profile and Electric Requiem profile remodel is made by Pharoah Leap. The Who's That Member member list remodel was made by Tictactoe. The Cbox.ws Shoutbox remodel was made by Trinity Blair. All templates used for claims, information sheets, applications, etc are credited to their owners; credits for these can be found in the threads the templates are use on. Images that are used on The Duality of Man are credited to their owners, however, they have been edited by Zac with a few being edited by Chibi Magician. The plot, rules and various other information pieces for The Duality of Man are written by Chibi Magician with the assistence of her co-admins, Finnegan and Dremulf, alongside other unlisted people who were kind enough to give their input. The TRS, AP and face claim were all created by Fleur for specifically the use of TDOM. All plugins used on The Duality of Man are credited to their owners. The templates my members use are credited to their maker, if you find a template that belongs to you, but is uncredited, please speak to Chibi Magician or the member themself. Characters created on The Duality of Man are credited to their owners and should not be used elsewhere without the creator's permission.
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