Vernos Kharo<br/>Preparation Deck<br/>Prepping<br/><br/>One of the side jobs of his position was that every once in awhile, he was required to entertain the viewers for a time, before the main acts commenced, like that of the Ringmaster. Kharo was not a born entertainer, he was born to induce fear, revulsion and to cause death, but he could use his abilities for what Geneviève asked. His current act would show off his ability to teleport, change his body and become insubstantial at a mere thought.<br/><br/>Currently in the performing area was several huge, lumbering swordsmen, fighting with brute force and agility. There was blood and gore over the ground, but the crowd loved a good fight. They were armed with massive greatswords, while tribal armour covered their massive bodies. Standing nearly as tall as Vernos' "Champion" performer, the towering Isaac Durange. Isaac had power, and the daemon respected power. Suddenly, the black cloaked shape of Vernos dropped from the ceiling in the midst of the deadly warriors, caught in the midst of several powerful swings. The blows, which would have cut a human into many little pieces, simply passed through Kharo. A second later, a bunch of large fists, made by the power of the Void, came from the creature's back and simply swatted the huge men to one side. The crowd roared in approval. They had seen the beauty of the Harpy, the Rat Lord's, he had to give him, complete control and discipline. They had even seen some things that none of them would ever see again. Now they were in the mood for blood shed, raw power and something to set them up for the next act.<br/><br/>"Greetings, mortals." Vernos said, his voice echoing around the near silent Circus tent. "It seems you were enjoying the combat of these... buffoons." He added, flicking his head towards the monstrous men which were managing to get back up. "They have brute strength of muscle." Said the dark voice from the front of the tent, but the figure had disappeared. "But there is much more than simple brute muscle in life. There is always more." Kharo said, now standing at the very back of the circus, and the head's all turned around to look upon him. He started to walk down the stairs, leading back down to the main performance area, letting his hand stroke along the cheek and neck of a woman in the crowd, who's eyes fluttered and her cheeks turned red. "You have seen some interesting performances." He continued, half way down the stairs. "The voice of an angel, the-" He paused. "Talent of beast control exemplified. These two performances have baffled and stunned you, but now, you shall be awed." The daemon finished with a relished tone, reaching the bottom of the steps.<br/><br/>With a flick of his wrist, thick tendrils of darkness erupted from the ground next to him, attaching themselves to the legs of the five swordsmen and effortlessly held them in the air, dangling up side down. "What, shall I do with this one?" He asked the crowd, his voice getting louder. Some in the crowd yelled out Kill him!, some shouted "Throw him!". He thought for a second. "It seems that people want me to throw him up and kill him, is that correct?" Kharos tried to confirm, met with applause. "So shall it be." He finished. With a twist of the tentacle, the swordsman flew into the air. A moment before he struck the floor, an array of spikes spurted up from the ground, utterly impaling the man's body. Blood spurted out. The crowd went silent, then cried out in joy. It was a known fact that while beauty captivated people's hearts, and sadness tore them in twain, nothing got the blood pumping more than simple destruction and death. The next three men died in dazzlingly unique and strange ways. One ripped apart from the inside by a ball of tentacles, another pulled apart, then put back together with various appendages in the wrong place. Until it came to the final one.<br/><br/>Held the highest in the air, for the longest, the crowd watched the man, expecting some sort of dropping act. "I would advise the front rows to shield themselves." Kharo said, grinning darkly as the man's head exploded. Blood sprayed all over the front rows, covering them in bits of skull fragment, brain matter and blood. The crowd roared and shouted in bestial pleasure at the event, most of them upon their feet at the murder done before them. "That, mortals, is why there is more to see, than the eye can comprehend." He finished, holding the still wriggling eyeball of one of his now dead slaves up to the crowd. To fading claps, he slipped through the wooden wall, back into the performing area. It did amuse him to see how mortals reacted to murder. Each time, depending on the type of death, was different. This one, for instance, was met with applause and cries of more. Some were met with people being sick, feinting and simply thinking it was revolting. There was always the view people that enjoyed it however.<br/><br/>Slipping through another wall, nodding in greeting to the Ringmaster and her Second in Command, as he did. The daemon reappeared upon his throne, putting his chin in his hands and thinking. Behind him, in large tubes, were the forms of several more, bulky warriors. All they were was clones, huge, bred for war, clones. They took several days to reach maturity, and skill with a blade was ingrained into their genes. The downside was, they weren't too clever, not at all.