Malkavia, Ikari

Name: Malkavia, Ikari
Age: 17
Birthdate: May 21
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Asexual
Clan: Malkavia
Rank: Chuunin

Village: Kuraiyami
Element(s): Yang | Yin | Void
Specialties: Kenjutsu | Genjutsu | Ninjutsu
Special Characteristics: 

Spoiler:

Height: 7'4
Weight:200 lbs
Hair Color:Black
Eye Color: Red
General Description:  Ikari is a complex specimen, both in personality and appearance. In his moments of clarity, he dresses similar to a common civilian; a dirty grey haori that is often stained with splashes of red. His lower half is clothed in ragged and torn hakama, held up around his waist by a thick chain. His feet are typically either bare, or shod in a pair of heavy wooden geta.

However, in his times of mandness, his appearance changes drasticly. Everything about Ikari in meant to invoke fear in those that look upon him; the haori is opened to reveal his scarred and bleeding chest, filled with puncture wounds and cuts that ooze fresh blood. Despite this, his upper body is noted to be very muscular, and pale as alabastar. The Haori is inverted, taking of the appearance of a blood-stained, tattered butcher's smock that clothed his lower body, that end over bare, dirty feet. But the most horrifiying thing about the creature would be his head, or rather, his helmet. The massive, pyramid-shaped object that was seated on his shoulders, If one would look close enough, they would notice that the even the edges of this were jagged and sharp, with bits of rotting flesh stuck in places. 



Personality: 

A voracious huger manifested into human form; Ikari is best classified as a monster in human skin. He is an unstoppable force, an Unspeakable Horror unleashed upon the world that serves no one but his own desires, whatever they may be at the moment. Ikari operates purely on instinct most of the time time, giving into his baser desires. At any given moment, Ikari is given to turn himself over to his anger, unleashing a terrifying beast upon the world; one that knows no limitations of kindness and compassion for his fellow man. 
Those who attempt to look beyond this will find that Ikari is a strangely complex creature. He seems to believe that all of life is a grand arena, and only those worthy of the hunt are allowed to live. Ikari himself seeks to prove himself as an apex predator, worthy of hunting the greatest prey of all, Mankind. Everyday is a new chase, a new chance to cause pain to the populace.

Likes: What gives joy to a monster? What could a beast seek in this life that causes satisfaction? So long as his basic needs are met, Ikari has no need nor want for much in the world. He roams the lands of the earth, driven by gods know what force to cause the pain he inflicts upon those he comes across. 
One of the few things that Ikari truely enjoys in this life is the thrill of a good chase, of the prospect that he could have finally found his match in wits in the form of another person. To finally call someone his equal is a joy that he longs to feel, and each day that passes without this need met is agony that deepens his madness, causing him to develop more sinister methods of testing the brilliance of those he comes across.

Dislikes: Ikari's likes and dislikes seem to vary on a day to day basis. What might not have pushed his button or pissed him off only the day before could be the very death of you today. It just tends to be centered around what honestly pisses him off at the current time, and how his mood is. If it's a good day, he might very well dislike nothing; where as if its a bad day... well, anything and everything could and probably will end up setting into a full blown blind rage the likes of wish you'll wish you never saw... and from which you will probably never recover from.
But there is one garunteed thing that will always send Ikari into a frenzy; cowardice. Ikari cannot stand cowards in any shape or form. In his eyes, they are worth the life that was breathed into them; they are nefarious theives of oxygen, and must be put to death!

Motivations: What motivates a monster to get up each day, and go about his destructive habits. What motivates someone like Ikari? Is it his inner blind rage? Perhaps that spark that ignites in him that makes him want to light anything and everything around him on fire, or the voices that tell him that the man staring at him from the ceiling is a vampire and he needs to be staked or else he will begin breeding with sheep to produce a herd of super mutant sheep that drains the color from other sheep? Or, perhaps it's the idea that the stronger he becomes the more people he can hunt down; and the more he can prove to those around him that he actually has a reason to exist. That's as good as any for a motivator for anyone else, and it works just the same for Ikari. The stronger he can get himself the better he will be, and the closer to his goals, whatever those might be at the time, he becomes. So, if that means pushing himself just a little harder than everyone else, or playing just a little bit dirtier than the next person, he'll do it.

Fears: Fear is such a usual state of mind for many creatures; both human and otherwise. But what is there truly to fear that sets it aside so much from other emotions. For Ikari his fear is triggered by the idea of losing anyone, or anything, he might have grown to care for. The idea of someone being snatched away from him either easily or not so easily is enough to invoke the sort of rage that you only hear about from bedtime stories of monsters and demons. It's what helps to motivate Ikari, in a sense, this almost borderline irrational fear - it's what makes him act so rashly towards those who threaten the people he cares for. But all in all, What is there to fear but fear itself? The idea of failure is nothing to Ikari-- it only causes fear in the idea of him being unable to kill that which he loves to kill; but even that goes so much deeper than just fear. It becomes a physical pain that manifests a rage beyond comprehension. A rage, that only when it is satisfied and has left him, would indeed leave him as an empty shell of a person. There really can't be anything else listed that Ikari fears; given his rather insane qualities that allow him to see past the fears a normal person would have. Even the fear of his own death or an intense amount of pain has little to no hold over him, giving him the ability to charge into a battle without hesitation; even if the odds are stacked highly against him - something that normally instills fear into the hearts of those he is facing off with. Something that tends to cause most to flee in terror, vomit, or otherwise piss themselves when faced with it. 

History: If you’re reading this, then I’m probably dead. And if I’m dead, then you know the truth about me. 

No, not the truth. Not the actual truth, anyway. The rumours you hear around town? The snide comment the occasional drunk spits out when he’s done groaning about his wife? It’s all the ‘truth’ they want you to know. Yes, it’s the truth that’s been twisted, hidden, and resurfaced, as malleable as reality itself. If anyone took the time to really think about this ‘truth’ you hear, you’d know it fake. You all would.

But of course you don’t. You don’t take the time to think. Because you’re likely one of them, a townsfolk who doesn’t find it in his duty to think outside the box or a drunken Kaminari citizen who isn’t brave enough to get a divorce. 

Because you see, the ‘truth’ is not really the full truth. It’s the truth put forth from their perspective, like all stories are, and like all perspective, it paints the ‘hero’ in a bright light, taking down the ‘villain’. It paints the king who taxes his citizens fairly as the righteous and just ruler of the world, who rids his kingdom of petty thieves wishing to break the law. It says nothing about the thief’s poor family, who’s starving not only in hunger but in fear, robbed of all their money by the ‘righteous and just’ king. It says nothing of the concern and worry gripping their hearts every night as they hope with crossed fingers that their father comes back home safely, with or without the food he promised to hunt down. 

It says nothing about the thief’s family, who will never know their father is not dead. 

It says nothing, because it’s a matter of perspective. It says nothing, because it’s not the truth. Not mine, anyway. 

I’m no thief. I’m no father. I’m no one. 

I can’t remember if I even was. 

I’m not trying to make excuses for what I did. It’s not fair of me to do it, to myself and to them. I’m just making sure, plain as day, that you know my side of the story, that the dark, shadowy tales that parents use to scare their children at night aren’t kept in the shadows and ostracised like they always are. Heroes can exist here too. But sometimes, almost always, these heroes are shunned in these shadowy tales. 

You see, people like me aren’t remembered. When we die, that’s it. No one cares. People wonder why there’s another body in the graveyard, but no one goes up to it and sees the empty, clean tombstone. No one asks where this body came from, and no one asks where the villager in town who went missing actually went. They just take officials’ word for it, whatever the excuse, because it’s the truth. It’s their truth, and that’s good enough for them. 

Not me. 

No. Whomever is reading this? Know I had no choice in the matters surrounding my life. I had no clue what my purpose was, and no clue what demonic consequences it would bring. I was born… to die. I was born for death and destruction, inflicted mercilessly and thoughtlessly on those around me, and myself.

I was born to be a plague upon the world, nothing more than a disease to be eradicated before it took too many people with it. I was the monster people whispered about; the demon who stalked the shadowy tales that scared children to bed when their parents wanted some privacy at night. I was the one whose name was whispered with fear, and whose form was looked upon with disdain. 

I was the one who lived in death. I was the one who died with life. 

Rage, pain… they have always been there, they always will be. They were my blanket keeping me warm, and my pillow helping me sleep through the horrid nights where I for once wouldn’t be the monster. They were my best friend, my mentor, my lover. They were my soulmate, and I was theirs. 

Rage, pain… I remember nothing else. In my head, memories speak only of pain and rage… I… I remember nothing else…

But know that I remember. And I’m coming.  

RP Sample: Darkness. It was so dark all the damn time. He was begining to love this village. The heat during the day in other villages was just fucking oppressive-- and he didnt do well with controlling his anger. Mostly. He was fine now -- it was dark, and with darkness came the cold. He very much prefered the cold-- it was something he could relate to. It felt like 'home' or at least, what he remembered to be home. Home consisted of a few broken memories, scattered fragments that needed to be pieced together for him to know whom he was-- or what, rather. 

From what he remembered, he wasnt always like this-- there wasnt always the enteral rage, the drive to devour more and more that he came across.  Even as he trudged through the underbrush, making his way to the entrance to the gates of this village, he could feel his power rumble for what it craved. Blood. Pain. Suffering.

There are plenty of people around. Surely no one would miss them? He could pull it off, couldnt he? Surely his dark clothing -- a black loose necked sleeveless top with a black hood on it and with decorative slits that go eight inches up the sides, revealing a portion of the males hips. Legs are covered in a black pair of Tripp styled pants with zippers up the sizes that go to the males knees and with skull covered straps that hang down several inches below where the zippers end which have loops at the end that can be attached to the pants. The waist band of the pants is hidden behind a large belt with a skull buckle on the front of it. Feet are covered by boots which strap up the front, black in color. Even with the metal and the two knives, Dusk and Dawn, tucked into the waistband of his pants, surely he could pull it off?

He was sure he could. He'd been doing this for years; thousands of them. At times he would remember things a tall tower in the middle of a village; white sand beaches and the taste of blood in his mouth. He could also remember someone else. a man with a black coat, who also carried around a large duffle bag. Strange things, fleeting memories. Things that haunted him, driving him to see out what they were.  He couldn't explain how he knew where to look -- seemed instinctual.


You are your brother's keeper, Chylde. Find him.

He'd been searching for years, wandering from place to place. But for some reason, he could feel that he was close...

Through the gates he passed, silent as a shadow, somehow moving past the guards without them noticing. Maybe there were no guards that night? Or just maybe, they'd already fled the scene, panicing with feelings of dread welling up in them. 

You are a disease, Chylde. 

But with sickness, comes strength. 

You will teach them to become stronger. 

And through strength, you will set them all free.

Faceclaim:  Pyramid Head ~ Silent Hill Franchise / Jeff the Killer ~ Creepypasta

Bumping for complete. Permission obtained from Kensei to use his SC's.