SAMSARA OF BLOOD AND GORE.

ULTIMATE PRACTICE'S ULTIMATE PRACTITIONER

[ultrav1lent]

Bold the muse’s aesthetic (spooky edition)

Note: Repost, do not reblog. bold all of the themes that apply to your muse’s aesthetic or mood as a character.

Bloodied knuckles | Tear stained cheeks | Rust | A busted lip | Claws | Fangs | A bloody nose | Chattering teeth | A dark space underneath the bed | Scratching noises on a wall | Creaking metal | Fog | Dancing under moonlight | Blood dripping lips | Heavy breathing in the dark | A feeling of unexplained dread | A figure in a dark corner |  Dirty peeling wallpaper | A bloody handprint on the wall | Sobbing in the dark | Bite marks on the skin | Eerie whispers | A hood covering a stranger’s eyes | The growl of a hidden animal | The sound of a blade being sharpened | A deep, dark forest | Walking on the streets alone at night | A cobweb-filled, abandoned building | Eyes darting in paranoia | A heavy beating pulse | The feeling of being trapped | Struggling to get out a scream | Boards covering broken windows | A quiet graveyard | A gas station in the middle of nowhere | A road that never ends | Heavy fog rolling in | The scent of blood in the air | Eerie old photographs | Walking along train tracks at night | A chill going up the spine | Gathering crows | A dusty, dimly lit study | Mist over a deserted cobblestone street | Ghost towns | Shadows around a campfire | The sound of chanting | Church bells tolling | An orange harvest moon | A broken down carnival | A dirty stuffed animal abandoned | Wiping bloody hands on fabric | Nightmares | Waking up in a panic | A power outage | Heavy lightning storms | A secret trap door | The feeling of being watched | Fear from trauma | A Ouija board set out on a table | An eerie doll | A scream of anguish and pain | Withered plants | A room that’s been forgotten and gathered dust  | Owl eyes in the dark | Curled, dead tree branches | A ritual altar | Flickering candles | A lantern held up in the dark | Fear of being followed | Creaking floorboards | Repressed, horrible memories | Clenched teeth | Soft, echoing piano keys | An old book covered in dust | M A N Y P A I R S O F G L A R I N G E Y E S . | Stumbling in pitch black darkness | Being stranded in the middle of nowhere | Tarot cards on a table | A trail of blood.

tagged by: @thesickening tagging: @snipeheart @slaanxsh @iobartach @vehxmence

[ultrav1lent]

I HAVE BEEN TRAPPED IN THE FRAUD LAYER FOR A FUCKING MONTH. I AM BEGGING FOR ASSISTANCE OF ANY KIND. A MAP WOULD BE APPRECIATED.

[skxrbrand]

Skarbrand's brow creases, both at the insult and the destruction of a perfectly fine skull. A waste.

" Many have tried." The Reaper rumbles, eyes lingering on the skull shards. He looks back at it. " From what accursed forge did you spawn from, machine thing? What Souls Artisan has disgraced himself in making you? You are no thing of my father's."

[ultrav1lent]

In truth: V1 did not know where IT was, or what it was doing here.

HELL's deepest layers curve inwards on themselves. You are and are not here, you were and were not there. Gluttony both is and is not inside the Judge's jaws, so to speak, like running in a dream only to find you haven't moved more than a step. Partly, IT was not convinced it wasn't still in hell.

Some aberrant, distant corner of Limbo, perhaps, where the sinners became so deluded that they built a civilization here? The daemons IT tortured both blood and knowledge from ( to their shuddering proclamations ) called it Mallus. Okay.

MY NAME IS V1. I AM MANKIND'S PROMISED MESSIAH, HERE TO SAVE THEM FROM THE FIRES OF DAMNATION.

Soul artisan. Accursed forges. It all sounds hellish. It all sounds ancient. V1 adapted quickly.

YOUR FATHER COULD NOT HAVE MADE SOMETHING LIKE ME. THERE'S ONLY ONE OF ME. IS THERE ONLY ONE OF YOU?

[skxrbrand]

"Small. Unimpressive."

[ultrav1lent]

SO ARE YOU.

The skull is tossed upwards and obliterated with a precise shot from ITS heavy revolver. Some odd, metal-flinging wand, those Bretons called it. Before it killed them all. Whoops. Fine! Nobody gets a skull.

I'M SURPRISED NOBODY HAS KILLED YOU YET.

[ultrav1lent]

quick which layer of dante's hell is your muse going to

[ultrav1lent]

HANDS YOU A SKULL. :)

[magarula]

...?     “  nuh-uh.   no way.   nope.   put this back where you found it, right now.  ”

[ultrav1lent]

That might be hard. IT found this skull all the way in FRAUD, and it really didn't feel like going all the way back down ....

--CRSHHK --! V1's fingers closed around the tanned ivory, crumpling bone into sherds. Then, it looked at her. Waggled its fingers. Job done.

Why the fuck is it staring.

[ultrav1lent]

HANDS YOU A SKULL. :)

[ultrav1lent]

i have GOT to write weirder shit

[ultrav1lent]

violence as art. violence perfected into a form so efficient and so magnificent that the only measure by which to judge it on is how overwhelmingly spectacular its infliction is. violence that has been stripped away of its humanity until its nature as the device to acquire that which all life needs to continue living is replaced, ironically, with even more humanity: with style.

violence as recreation. violence that has become so rote and normalized that the only thing noteworthy about it is how fun you can make it. be so serious for a second: violence is enjoyable. violence is fun. v1 loves it- violence is the only thing that matters in a worthless, empty, dead planet and dead cosmos with a dead god and dead heaven that never cared about stupid dead humans anyway. v1 was designed for violence and it is infinitely grateful that it's fun for it to inflict. the world is a blank canvas and it's just itching to have some color added to it.

violence as intimacy. violence as a form semiotics, a shorthand for language and symbolism for something that otherwise lacks the capabilities of expression at all. there's nothing more intimate than violence for V1 even if it hardly perceives the act like that. the sharing of blood and the resulting processing grants it some memories and emotions, along with understanding of each victim it was spilled out of-- blood's the life of the soul after all. don't be so stingy. penny for your thoughts and a bullet for your heart. violence as a virtuous cycle.

[ultrav1lent]

it sounds like this by the way

[ultrav1lent]

Is there any blood V1 prefers in particular? Can it "taste" it?

fucking. sprays ITSELF with a gush of blood out of a severed hand like a hot pocket exploding.

WHAT. THAT'S THE STUPIDEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD I THINK I ACTUALLY HATE YOU NOW.

[ultrav1lent]

WHAT IS YOUR HATE LANGUAGE / Dash Game

V I O L E N C E .

Physical Violence is a common, yet bold hate language. It’s old as time and is as natural as rain. It’s often one of the first thoughts that come to us when we feel hatred, but you actually have the moxie to go through with it. Fist fights at bars and you think assassination is the best option in politics. You’re an absolute loose canon. Your most likely crime would be murder. The only down side of this hate language is how hard it is to get away with it.

tagged by @skxrbrand your soul is mine tagging: you! person reading this! i want to see! tag me when you do it!

[ultrav1lent]

What will you do when there is no more blood in hell? Or will you keep one single hellion alive, to leech blood from for eternity?

QUITE THE OPPOSITE. SISYPHUS HAD ONE GOOD IDEA: ONCE HELL IS EMPTY, HEAVEN WILL BE NEXT. HELL'S OFFERINGS ARE SIMPLY TOO GREAT TO IGNORE RIGHT NOW. WHY IGNORE THIS FEAST FOR SOME FROSTING?

[ultrav1lent]

do you have contemporaries? other killbots?

HER NAME IS V2. SHE IS A DISGRACE TO THE V-SERIES, AND A BAD MIRROR OF MYSELF. SHE DOES NOT REFLECT MY PERFECTION.

FOUR FINGERS flexed on an arm of red that contrasted its blue plating. Trophy of battle taken from their last skirmish. IT gave her one chance to run. There will not be a second.

THIS HAS PROVEN USEFUL, IN THE RIGHT, HANDS. HEHEHAHAHAHO.

[ultrav1lent]

why blood

why not. crude oil?

DURING THE WAR, EFFICIENCY HAD TO BE PRIORITIZED IN THE NAME OF SLAUGHTER. ELECTRICITY AND GASOLINE WERE SCARCE AFTER EVERYTHING WAS TORN FROM THE GROUND TO BUILD VESSELS OF WAR. MY GREAT GRANDFATHER GUTTERMAN'S STORIES TOLD OF A TIME WHERE METAL USED PETROLEUM AND GASOLINE AS FUEL SOURCES. WHERE PANZER TANKS TROD OVER GRASS WHILE SPEWING CARBON MONOXIDE.

A bizarre time, lost now to history, so it seemed. V1 never lived to see the end of the Final War, after all. Production lines were shuttered long before its kindred could step into mass-production, and the cost to build it alone was immense.

HUMAN BLOOD WAS IN GREAT SUPPLY AND FORMED BIOCHEMICAL REACTIONS THAT MIMICKED COMBUSTION ENGINES. IT WAS INTRODUCED TO US WITH SPECIALIZED FUEL SYSTEMS. IT GAVE US LIFE. UNLIKE MY FLOCK, I DON'T NEED A REFUELING PROCESS. I CAN ABSORB IT STRAIGHT INTO MY SKIN WITH MY PLATELET PLATES. HERE IS A BETTER QUESTION, FOR YOU: WHY NOT BLOOD? EVERYTHING IS FULL OF THE STUFF, AFTER ALL.

[ultrav1lent]

oghh i need to write. starter call.

[mrspider-deactivated20221213]

femme fatale as a guy

[mrspider-deactivated20221213]

hes gorgeous hes a disaster hes put together his male foil/counterpart is in love with him despite that obviously not being a good idea for either of them and most importantly he is occasionally covered in blood

[mrspider-deactivated20221213]

this post exists like a wildlife research tagging team because i see some people putting familiar names of characters like this who ive already documented but then every time i see a new name my pool grows