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Cenobite
> Hello yourself. That was QUITE the you want a dramatic entrance?
Suddenly, all of the lights in the nigthclub blow. Some of them explode, throwing shards of glass into warm flesh, others pop into powder, others merely fade to dim red and then black, as if ashamed to admit their former function. In the milling confusion, harsh blue light burns from sources along the bottom of the walls, sweeping up in an all-seeing searchlight fashion. Fevered yellow glows from between the cracks in the walls, and the foundations creak. One wall cracks from floor to ceiling, spraying dust and powdered plaster into the humid air. With agonised shrieks, two sections of wall drag themselves apart, like dogs who've been hit by cars. From the blackness behind the walls steps a figure dressed in a knee-length leather jacket, tightly laced up at the front. His skin is blue-white, his long hair swept back, and two black-iron rods are thrust through his flesh, going in under the chin, crossing over inside his mouth and emerging from either temple. His crazed eyes are pools of oily blackness. In the silence following the death of the lights, his voice can easily be heard. It quivers with repressed agony, although his eyes and expression deny pain; he is ecstatic. "Leviathan's Representative is back, people. Party Time." (bows) |
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