A dead, cold air flowed around a single being. His rugged armor fit nicely into the kingdom of Lucifer, but his very presence did not. There were times when even some powerful demons moved out of his way, afraid to look him in the eye due to a generic rumor about him. He was not known greatly, but those who knew him took his presence cautiously. Some feared him, while others looked forward to kill and get rid of him. A clear division of thoughts was present amongst those who knew the icy figure: fear him, or hate him.

Yet again, a group of hard-headed, pathetically weak demons went up to the cold figure, who was cornered in a back alley he slept at behind several buildings. They raised a pitchfork or two, one even wielding a deathly large knife, as they swung, lunged, and aimed to kill the icy man.

Sometimes, ice was faster than everything. Reverse psychology made it make sense; instead of being faster than others to win a race, ice slowed others down to beat and pummel them to frozen dust. Even regular ice showed no mercy. But the cold warrior's power of ice was able to freeze the sharpest of hearts. He could bring a violent, cold storm in some of the fieriest warriors alive, and while he certainly was not the strongest, he had the potential to empower his sword to the point where even he would not be able to wield it one day.

Then again, his opponents were not powerful even among fairly strong demon denizens who did not serve the kingdom. No, they knew they were weak, which was why they brought pitchforks and a knife in the first place. Ice, however, took forever to break with several pitchforks and a knife.

After a moment's while of time flew by, he decided to do something. The "Ice Man" first took out the first mob's spine, kindly putting it neatly into the center of the second man's stomach. "Stuff" spilled out, but only a few specks of blood managed to stain his armor, for the contents froze before they even moved an inch closer to him. The third man trembled as he swung his knife at the cold figure, only to feel that his attack felt so much more slower than it should have been.

With a swift strike of his right index and middle fingers, the icy being inserted his hand into the man's head. He felt something particularly soft inside, causing him to shake the dead body off of his hand.

The fourth and last mob opened his mouth to scream in terror, intent on showing what kind of monster he was to the kingdom. But then again, everyone screamed in the kingdom of Lucifer.

And then again, his voice box was stolen by the cold figure. His face still frozen in terror, the dead man's head fell on the floor with a thud, his body following shortly afterward.

Macbeth, the fallen and chosen warrior of his own blade, stood amongst what could be the most lacking of foes he faced so far. Even a fairly bred demon child could have beaten them due to how fragile they became out of starvation. It was a short battle, and he did not know what to think of battles in general. He knew what terror felt like, but he felt none when a blade flew toward his head. There was no specific adrenaline that drove him, either. The Ice Man wondered why he even had to kill them in the first place.

[i]Macbeth,[/i] a voice in his head echoed, its tone reeking of a calm lust and hunger. [i]I must feast upon their blood, Macbeth... Let me feast now...[/i]

Macbeth nodded, immediately unsheathing his weapon. He then walked over to the first mob's body, his weapon in hand, before simply placing his sword on the ground. Putting one hand over the blade, the Ice Man closed his eyes.

His eyes then opened, cold energy crackling out of his eyes.

Steadily, yet quickly, the blood of the demons slowly oozed toward Macbeth. The demon warrior of ice focused his powers into giving his blade the food it desired. When the demon blood reached the sword, it began to flow into the open-eyed skull design placed on the weapon. The skull growled, indicating that who he had slain were, indeed, demons. Macbeth remained giving his weapon the ability to feast until it was completely done.

[i]Thank you, Macbeth,[/i] the Ice Man heard from the blade. [i]Tis' was a pleasurable feast... for the quality in this blood was not satisfying, but there was certainly a large quantity... You may carry on with serving Lucifer, now...[/i]

Macbeth nodded, acknowledging his weapon's satisfaction, before standing up again. Flesh and bones remained on the floor, causing the Ice Man to walk up to them and toss them to a nearby corner. He was not good at dealing with the remains of practically anything. With his sword's weekly meal time finished, Macbeth walked out of the back alley, the blood on his armor mysteriously gone. Apparently, he was feeling quite cold today.

The demon warrior of Lucifer walked by the cathedral, intent on receiving more duties from his ever-so treasured king and queen. That is, if they even had any for him. For if he had to take deep breaths while fighting such weak opponents, then he would need some training to harden him with battle experience and absolute power. He needed it for the blade he carried.