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Khalathrax, Lord of Chaos, The First Fallen

Origin city/Planet:
Unknown Tribe of Humanity, Earth-148

The Tower of Khalathrax, situated in the centre of the Lands of Blood and Fire


Once Human, now a Lord of Chaos

Prime Form: Estimated between 40 to 50 feet high.

N/A - Nobody really knows how much Khalathrax 'weighs', considering the Lord shapes their body according to their whims.

Nobody knows, perhaps not even the Lord themselves.

Birth Date:
Nobody knows, perhaps not even the Lord themselves.

Khalathrax's Icon is the most ancient and powerful of all the symbols of Chaos; the Star of Chaos, also known as the Eight-Pointed Star.

Khalathrax is best summed up in a single word; rage. Fuelled by little more than primordial anger, fury and bloodlust, Khalathrax will stop at nothing to slake their ever-growing thirst for violence, destruction and death. Khalathrax despises those who would seek to stop their reign of terror, and even other forces of Chaos that may attempt to intercede for their own benefit often find themselves the target of the First Fallen's unstoppable fury. With a bellow, Khalathrax directs their forces ever onward, over the ruined husks of buildings, the blood-soaked ground stained with the vitae of those who thought they could stop a Lord of Chaos in their prime. There is no mercy. There is no remorse. All Khalathrax knows is to kill, maim, and burn. Khalathrax will stop at nothing until they are Lord of the Ashes... and from Earth, the dominion of Chaos will spread through the Cosmos, and the stagnation of Order will finally give way to the unending slaughter of Chaos.



Character History/Origin:

The Lords of Order

The Lords of Chaos

-Sheet under construction-
Work and World Cup put paid to any further writing today, sadly.

Location: Downtown Trenton, New Jersey
Time: Early Evening


The rustling of a paper bag. The unmistakable sound of a cash register opening to deposit coinage inside.

Kseniya gave a small, polite smile to the teen behind the counter of the donut shop as she walked out, her ill-gotten gains in her hand. It was one of many vices for her, sugary food, though it was perhaps the oldest. She found a bench nearby and sat down on it, taking out a donut and biting into it, the sweet, sickly taste of the sugared icing melting on her tongue, the sweetness of the dough almost dripping from her mouth. God, she enjoyed it. It was the first thing she'd had to eat all day. She didn't need to eat, per se, but it was always nice to indulge in life's simple pleasures. The sun was setting in the skies over Trenton, New Jersey, and what cloud cover there was, was lit in magnificent arrays of vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows, as though the sky itself were afire. She smiled and leaned back on the bench - a cool breeze blew through her long, blonde hair as she took another bite of the donut. Inside her jacket, her PPK rested easily inside its hard leather chest holster, for easy access. She wasn't allowed to carry it, of course, but the less the cops on the street knew, the better. Their concern was petty crime and the odd murder and robbery, not dealing with the likes of her. She reckoned even if she was found to be carrying a gun, most of the local cops on the beat would simply turn a blind eye to it under a bit of pressure. Pressure was the best dissuasion technique...

Her phone buzzed and vibrated in its pocket. Frowning, Rubis took it out, and clicked the home button to check what was going on. A new text, from an unknown number. Instinctively, Rubis' eyes darted about, wondering whether she was being tailed by someone, or something - nothing immediately suspicious stuck out in her mind, so she opened the text.

Call this number at the payphone.

She looked down the street, at what she assumed was the payphone in question. She raised an eyebrow, and finished her donut before putting her phone back inside her jacket and walking down towards the payphone, still alerted and on the lookout for anything suspicious. Perhaps she was being followed... but by someone who didn't want to harm her, at least not immediately. Perhaps it was a job offer, though usually those were through other channels, often by crooked employees of federal agencies, or by those in her network - it was seldom that she was contacted via a fucking payphone of all things. What was this, the 1990s? The fucking mafia or something? She walked over and put in a couple quarters, enough for a call for a few minutes. She hesitated before taking out her phone, but eventually, she did so, and punched in the number... the ring tone was agonisingly long. Finally, just as she was about to give up, the call was answered.

"What d'ya hear, what d'ya say... You got the text, I see. Was concerned about getting the wrong number, y'know, girl. Gotta say, business ain't what it used t'be round here. Gone quiet."

She knew the voice instantly and smirked, shaking her head in disbelief. She had been joking earlier, but no shit, it was for real, it was the fucking Nostra. Johnny Tisarelli. "This had better be good, Tiss. You remember what happened last time you and I had a chat. You coming out from that little cave you and yours hid in?"

"Hehe... tha's the Roob I know. 'Ey, the feds might think they've got the upper hand around here, but man, they don't know the half of it, specially now that the Hounds and all that shit are around. They've been great in gettin' the feds' attention away from us. Now listen, I've been gettin' t'gether the old boys and reformin' the crews, and I need your help. Some slimy cocksuckers took over Corazzo Engineering whilst I was hidin', y'know the one, the big buildin' firm out by the riverside, yeah?"

"Let me guess, you want those... ahem, slimy cocksuckers dealt with, mhm? It'll cost you, Tiss."

"Momma always said nothin' in life was ever free. I gotcha on that score."

"Anything else, Tiss?"

"Y'know, if ever ya wanted a place to stay-"

"Not. Happening." There was a laugh from the other end of the phone line.

"Worth a shot. Call me when you get that done. I'll introduce ya to the new boys, alright?" The phone hung up, and Rubis slotted the receiver back into its holder. Jesus Christ, what was she thinking? Tisarelli had never done all that much good by her, but still, she couldn't exactly turn him down - fuck knows what he'd tell the feds about her more... illicit activities in exchange for some sweet, sweet cash. Money greased more palms than anything else, especially in this business - without money, you were useless; with it, you could do whatever you wanted - for a price, of course. Rubis took another bite of her donut as she walked down the street back to the bench, flipping through her phone for any information on Corazzo Engineering, the old construction firm Tisarelli and his lackey de Bono - or as Kseniya used to say, Boner - ran back in the late 90s and early Noughties. She was in luck. Sitting back down, she read through a news article that dated back to 2013, where it stated that Corazzo Engineering had been taken over by Liam and Padraig O'Shaughnessy. It was intriguing to say the least - de Bono's death in 2013 had opened a can of worms regarding Corazzo's future, especially with regards to some debts that the company had run up with a local materials firm that the Shaughnessy brothers had connections with - had Liam and Padraig agreed to buy the company to excuse the debts? And why hadn't Tisarelli stopped this? Did he even know Boner had been running a sinking ship?

Rubis took another bite of her donut, and looked up at the sky... and its hues of red. "Czerwony, jak krew."

Location: Corazzo Engineering construction site, Duck Island, Trenton, NJ
Time: Mid-Evening, approximately 21:30

"Stop here. Keep the change."

Rubis handed the taxi driver a ten dollar note, and got out of the car. A red Citroen... couldn't even get decent cars these days for a night of bloody business like this. She lit a cigarette and looked over at the steel shell that marked Corazzo's newest project - a high-rise on the outskirts of Duck Island, next to the riverside... A call from Tisarelli had confirmed that the marks were there to check up on the work... and to check up on some faulty accounting. The local foreman, a guy named Worthington, was on call, waiting for the brothers to arrive... Rubis didn't envy him one bit. When it came to roughing folks up, the Irish were worse than the Nostra, that was for damned sure. She walked over to the side of the road, and watched the site carefully from underneath a wide-brimmed hat - all that could be seen of her face was the low orange glow of a lit cigarette, and the clouds of smoke. For all the guys on the site knew, she was just a local hooker, with her blonde hair and her cheap tobacco, and her heels. It wasn't flattering, that's for sure, but her long overcoat was the perfect cover for her pistol... tonight, Irishmen would die, and the Nostra would reclaim that which was theirs by right and blood ties. Boner had run a sinking ship, but the Irish weren't to gain a foothold in Jersey... hell no.

It was odd. Last time Kseniya had worked for Johnny Tisarelli, things had gone sour. She'd ended up putting a bullet in his con's chest, she recalled... Jackie Maggiore, the rat. The FBI had turned up on a... 'routine' drug hit, and Rubis had been forced to shoot her way out - Tiss had begged and pleaded with her that he wasn't responsible, that he'd only found out Maggiore was a rat after he'd been seen talking with an agent that very day! It had taken every ounce of respect she had for the man - and a lot of money - to spare his life. And now, here she was again, Tisarelli's hitwoman. Still, he was right. Nothing in life came free, and mafia work was profitable, that was for damned sure. She could afford to splash out with it... She watched as a black BMW pulled up. Blacked out windows. Four men, two in suits, two in what looked like tracksuits. The brothers Grimm had arrived. They walked over to the gate guard and flashed ID in his face... The gate was open. She walked over towards the gate... the guard eyed her up.

"Who're you?"

"Oh, don't worry about me, handsome. I'm just waiting for a client... he said he'd meet me here." She smiled and batted her lids at the guard, who smirked.

"That so, huh. Wanna wait inside?"

An opportunity dawned... she intended to seize it with both hands. No doubt he had his own plans in mind for her... but she could easily overpower him. "Oh... that's very kind of you... I don't think he'll turn up at this rate." She walked over to the door, and she heard the key turn, the lock open and the handle slide back. The guard beckoned her inside, his smirk still on his face. When she was inside, he turned to the controls for the shutters on his guard hut.

"That's a mighty shame. Still... waste not, want not, huh honey?" The guard turned back to see Kseniya, far from indulging in his fantasy with him, instead had her PPK aimed directly at him. "Wait-", was all he could stammer out as she pulled the trigger. A suppressed clap. A single 7.65mm bullet. It punched clean through his skull and into his brain; he was dead before he hit the floor. She walked over and took the guard's keyring, and with it, she unlocked the door that led into the yard. The gate was closed, and the Irishmen were inside, no doubt heading towards the building site. Kseniya slipped the pistol back into her coat, opened the door and quietly walked down the steps into the dirt at the bottom, before walking slowly towards the building site, where she could see the Irishmen and Worthington holding a... conversation. Worthington was up against a pillar, with the two thugs flanking him... she walked closer, trying to keep the noise down. One of the thugs had a gun - a Glock from the look of it pressed up against the foreman's head - whilst the other had a crowbar in his hand. The brothers were raving about how 'money was being siphoned away' and 'things just weren't working out properly' for which, of course, they blamed the foreman. Dumb bastard probably didn't even know what was going on. But then something caught her attention - one of the brothers started yelling about how the 'Grey Watch weren't getting their due, and you know what that means'. The Grey Watch were in on this? That was odd - she thought the Watch were confined to the NYC area, and they were the techy sort, not the dumb-bastard-on-a-building-site type? What were they doing out here in Jersey, and connected with a dig of all things? Did the Shaughnessy brothers have a stake with the Watch?

It didn't matter for now. She walked towards the group, stockinged legs and heels underneath her grey fur coat. "Gentlemen? Can I help you in this fine evening?" All five of them looked over at her. The thug with the gun eyed her up.

"Worthington, you son of a bitch... you got a whore of yours?"

The foreman's terrified eyes turned to Kseniya. "N-No... who the fuck are you, and how did you get past the guard?!"

"He thought with his cock, not his head. That's how. I have a message for you all from Johnny Tisarelli... Chew on these." And with that, Rubis opened fire. Five suppressed shots. Five dead bodies.

Tisarelli, you owe me big time. Kseniya lit another cigarette and took a long drag, before walking over to search through the bodies...
Okay, that's fine, doesn't *have* to be those three generals in the first place, mind.

"Presently I've written how the territory from the Japanese border in Russia to the Urals is controlled by a confederacy of sorts of former Imperial Cossacks." That's quite a large state, and really cuts down on the area available to new players in the remains of Imperial Russia, unless you're fine with people carving out their own states from said nation?

I'll probably go for a state in and around Novosibirsk. Probably re-write the nation to make it more nationalist/populist rather than strongly left-wing.
Hrm. This could be interesting - if you want, I could have it so that the Pliyev Troika instead flee to China, and then potentially offer themselves as another option for a government after the Siberian invasion has been completed? Pliyev, Yeryomenko and Chuikov are all pretty hard-line communists, and would likely retain the support of a fairly sizeable chunk of the Russian Far Eastern Theatre - I estimated that the Russian Far Eastern Theatre would probably have been made up of between 24 and 28 divisions (based on relatively similar Soviet ORBATs from the 1960s in the area) and therefore they would maybe have been able to retain the support of 70-80% of the men under their command.

However, this is all subject to your ideas for the region. I can work with whatever, or I can simply relocate elsewhere if necessary.
The plan was:

In the aftermath of the assassination of the Tsar, and the rather spectacular implosion of the Russian state, Generals Issa Pliyev, Andrey Yeryomenko, Vasiliy Chuikov and several others take command of the Russian Far Eastern Theatre's forces based around Vladivostok and Khabarovsk, and transform the area (by force in some instances) into the Commune of the Amur, a communist state in the Russian Far East with designs of eventually re-conquering Siberia and the Urals, eventually driving west and taking the capital areas in European Russia (probably not, but that's their ultimate goal).

Sadly, I was a muppet and didn't read Japan's NS, which claimed the Amur area for their own. So now, in a bit of limbo here.
-Redacted, because the map on the first post of the OOC had indicated the Amur was free... when it wasn't-

Location: Lachance Stronghold - Henderson, NV
Time: Late Evening

Katarina had been anxiously awaiting some news - any news at all - from the witches about Ben’s condition. Suffice to say, they weren’t readily forthcoming with such information, but merely remained quiet… aggravatingly so, in fact. Then, all of a sudden, they disappeared into a room with him, and closed the door behind them, whilst Kat had been instructed to keep out of the way. It rankled and grated on her patience considerably, and yet, for not the first time today, Kat kept quiet. She just had to keep calm, carry on and keep her head down whilst she integrated with the group at large. The other werewolves were with her, each of them swiping distrustful glances over at Kat, but she paid them no attention, preferring to examine the weaponry that she had looted from the Hounds once again, and in much greater detail. So many detailed intricacies that she had overlooked - three-shot burst, for one. She turned the rifle over and over in her hands, testing how easily it was to manipulate and hold for a long time - in truth, all to keep herself from demanding access to her stricken werewolf. She needed something to do to keep her mind off everything, and specifically, off him and what he must have been going through, thanks to that damned silver weaponry. She noted something else from the firefight as well, now that she had had time to think; she had not once resorted to magic, preferring to utilise the artificial firepower of the Hounds instead. It was a weakness of hers - what magic she could remember from her libraries was slow and cumbersome to bring to bear upon her foes, and in such instances as said firefight, it could have gotten her killed. And it could have hurt her erstwhile allies to boot. She needed faster-acting and more targeted spells to complement her new arsenal. She’d have to note that one down for later.

But for now, she returned her attention to the rifle. At least that was a concrete and dependable item. Not like anything else around here- the door had opened! The witches filed out, each of them sneaking a look into the room where Kat and the others had been spending their time… Yes, yes, everything is fine, now please, go away. She watched each of the witches through furrowed brows and unblinking eyes, before getting to her feet and walking over to the doorway, checking to make sure they had actually left the area, before walking the short distance to Ben’s location. The door was closed, but unlocked. And so, thinking nothing of it, she opened it.

She instantly wrinkled her nose as the smell of rotted flesh, putrefied essence and acidic material washed over her as though she were back at her laboratory in the Tower. For a brief flicker of a moment, her prior memories as the Countess flashed through her mind, but no more. She winked to him as he whirled around to meet the opening of the door, and closed it behind her. ”Don’t get too excited, Ben… it’s only me.” She gave a snicker.

Ben’s shoulders immediately relaxed when he spotted Kat. He rolled his eyes at her snickering, a bit irritated at her amusement over his image. Public indecency was going to get him arrested one day if he couldn’t control the wolf. His frown deepened. Pushing the thoughts out of his head, he leaned over for his tunic and snatched it up with one hand. His back was turned to Katarina while he shoved his arms through each sleeve then lifted it down over his head.

One final tug, he then addressed Kat.

“Where are we? I can’t remember much clearly,” His voice held a bit of pain at admitting it.

”We’re in Nevada, Ben. Some stronghold of some of your witch friend’s, er, acquaintances, I suppose is the best way of saying it. Truth be told, I don’t know much more about this place than you do, only that it’s mostly safe from the arschloche that decided to fill us all with bullets.” Kat walked over and pulled Ben into a gentle embrace. His skin was surprisingly warm to the touch, and she subconsciously made an effort to match him temperature-wise, lest he end up hugging something cold as ice. He was soaked with sweat, and the aforementioned smell hung in the air like a miasmatic cloud - in the old days, people would have fled from the room in terror, frightened that the smell would somehow infect them or sicken them. Kat knew better than that, though. And so did apparently modern humans.

”How are you feeling? A little better now that the poison is out of your system?”

“Terrible, like lukewarm death and worse,” Benjamin said as he let her hug him, unsure how to react.

After several moments, he gently removed her arms and pulled away. He jerked down the shirt to ensure his muscles were covered as he considered his next question. Once more he faced Kat.

“Where’s the White Witch now and who else came?”

Kat was slightly taken aback at Ben’s reluctance to engage in an embrace, but then, she remembered his earlier reluctance to do so in previous meetings. It was a peculiarity of his; one that Kat, truth be told, had no interest in delving into at any point in the near future. She gave a half-smile, and giggled as he pulled down the shirt. ”Aww… I was enjoying the sights… That’s not good to hear about your condition - though I would know about feeling like death warmed up, huh?” She sat down on a chair next to Ben, her nose now having been mostly innured to the scent of the… foul effusions that had marked the purge of the silver from Ben’s body. ”I don’t know where your witch friend is, actually… I saw her leave a while back, but haven’t seen head nor foot of her since… apologies. As for who else we have, I believe we have some friends of yours - twin werewolves, I think? Aside from us… nobody else. The French bitch scarpered shortly after we escaped from Vegas - she got us into that scheißsturm and then she vanished into the fucking night, with that robot thing that went with her. She, ah, how do you say it, brought the heat on us? And then ran like the coward she is.” Kat sighed and rubbed her forehead - she herself had not fully recovered from her own injuries, though Ben had suffered much worse, and Kat was acutely aware of such matters.

”The other twins, the man and the woman, they also left shortly after we escaped. I don’t know where any of those who left are, though… Knowing the French, though, I bet that one fled back to France, as they always do…”

Benjamin looked at Katarina with a hard set jaw, “Why do you say she had something to do with the goons that showed up?”

It was odd that a publically hostile group against supernatural would show up right after they met Odette. However, he had doubts she was suicidal enough to risk her own safety and nearly get them all killed. His neck hairs rose up at the thought of Odette causing him to growl in his throat slightly before he cleared it.

Taking a moment to calm himself, his eyes turned to Kat, “I have get my inner wolf under control. This is getting hard and I’m going to be found out if I don’t. I don’t want to end up in a laboratory somewhere being cut open or experimented on.”

”Ben. Think about it. This woman shows up bragging about her unimaginable power, only for the damned Hounds to show up, seemingly from nowhere, and engage us with heavy weaponry, and weaponry specifically designed to deal with us, ja? I mean, come on, I’ve heard of coincidences, but gottverdammt that’s too much, too convenient. Either she’s being followed and dealt with, or she… she led them to us. Either way, I don’t trust her one bit. She’s dangerous and I don’t like it…” Ben’s following statement raised Kat’s ire, however - of course, the humans still were suspicious of werewolves… superstitious fools. Cut up in a laboratory somewhere?

”Not if I have anything to say about it, they won’t...” She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes - maybe there was some way that Ben could be taught? It would have to mean giving him over to the witch, and maybe the werewolf twins in the next room… but it beat Katarina trying to teach Ben herself, on a subject about which she knew precious little other than what she had briefly read and witnessed in person. ”I suppose the others in our little group could help with that. I don’t trust them either, but if you do, then I’ll go along with your decision…”

“I’m not saying she’s innocent or didn’t have something to do with it, but self preservation is a thing. If I’ve learned anything from Daniel, it’s never to jump to conclusions until you have evidence. It just makes things messier.”

Clearing his throat again, his eyes turned to Kat. He noticed the blood leaking to the surface of the clothing from the now obvious bullet wounds causing him to inwardly groan. Benjamin gritted his teeth a moment before he spoke.

“Did you even get looked at? At all?”

Kat sighed and shook her head. He was right, of course, jumping to conclusions such as that would only really serve to engender distrust and dislike between the members of the group - which for all they knew, might have been the purpose of the woman’s visit in the first place, and they could ill-afford fractious tempers at this point in time, particularly after the Hounds had wrought their bloody havoc. Speaking of which, the dull pain from her bullet injuries was back. It was a mild discomfort… well, perhaps mild was a slight understatement. They still were sore. She winced under Ben’s gaze as he asked the question she hoped he would not. He had a way of turning on the interrogative capability when he wanted to.

Of course she hadn’t sought any attention for her own wounds. His were worse at the time, and he wasn’t a vampire able to regenerate with the sinking of his teeth into a vein. She felt like laying that on him… but decided against it. ”N-no... I didn’t think it was necessary at the time… h-hey, most of the shrapnel worked its way out! I… uh… I think.” Oh dear. Not the best defence of her inaction. Probably could - and should - have phrased that better. She offered a hopeful smile!

“You’re going to make me take care of you, aren’t you?” Benjamin said the words in an annoyed tone, but the way he said it held a hint of threat. One that unofficially made it clear he wasn’t just going to let her walk away until those wounds were taken care of.

The hopeful smile had not worked. Damn. ”What do you mean by that? I’m sure these will be fine by morning… right? It’s only a bit of metal.” It was not just ‘a bit of metal’. And it hurt. A lot. But she was committed to the ruse now - and besides, his wounds were still worse than her own! Never mind that Kat, the vampire was the bloody rearguard for a group that included a giant robot thing and several werewolves… and that she’d done that to get Ben to safety as quickly as possible. Contradictions abounded.

”Though… maybe I do need taking care of… this is actually quite painful.”

“Yeah,” Ben sighed then sat back down on the bench.

His hand reached for his collar then loosened the tunic around it enough to expose his skin. He turned his head until she could get a full view of the artery and added.

“Come on. Let me get you fixed up before you pass out on me.”

”Benjamin, no! You’ve only just recovered from what they did to you, the last thing you need is this…” Kat’s demeanour quickly recovered from the initial shock of Ben’s idea on how to ‘get her fixed up’. Of course. This was the only actual way to get it done, without injuring anybody else or infecting them with the Kiss. Kat sighed and shook her head, irritated at her need for blood - her own weaknesses coming to the fore once again. ”But… ugh… Fine.” She got up from the chair and walked over next to him, nuzzling her head into the gap between his head and his shoulder. And then, with some degree of hesitation, she bared her fangs, and sank them deep into his flesh, his warm vitae draining from the wound down her throat, a surge of energy flowing through her torpid veins. The bullet wounds ceased bleeding, and began to close over as she slaked her thirst.

She withdrew her head from the bite area, and wiped at her mouth. The bite site itself closed over quickly, to avoid too much sanguination. ”I wish I didn’t have to do that…”

“And I wish I wasn’t a werewolf, but that’s not how the world works,” Ben pointed out as he wiped away the remains of his blood.

He didn’t mention he felt weaker than before. Kat would only mother him and he couldn’t handle that right now. It didn’t stop him from twisting about then laying his head against her lap.

“I think I need some sleep before we do anything else.” He yawned.

”I’ll say…” Katarina stroked his hair as she closed her eyes… It would be good to catch a decent amount of shut-eye.
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