Silencium

Silencium is an angry, mess up person. He commits crime after crime with absolutely no disregard for the wellbeing of others. However, few people managed to get on his good list and he hurts none of them. He resents the living for punishing him for a crime he never commited, punishing him for the crimes of others. However, he often tries to kill himself, failing everytime he is reborn again and again by Morrigan as his own punishment.

Princes are cherished in silks and golden charms, running barefoot over hot sand and laughter ringing through the palaces they claim as their own. The very palaces they will inherit one day from their mothers and fathers as nature goes through the cycles since organics rise and fall like the rhythms of the sun. Shai was just that, a pup with all of the world at his fingertips. Showered in love and fine things, in power he was steeped in like a dark tea in hot water.

Before anyone knew it, he was standing at his father’s side as nature took its course and extinguished one flame, just to ignite another. Shai went from spitfire prince, to hearthwarming pharaoh.

Shai I. Pharaoh, long may he rule.

Where his father ruled with an iron fist and iron chains and leather whips, his son soothed the wounds with salves and care and protection from the brutal Egyptian sun. A gentle hand on a shoulder, kind and encouraging where before there would have been a whip on the skin, bleeding and infected and painful. Shai would often go without so that others could have. It was the least he could do after the tyrannical rule of his father.

However, even the kindest of slave owners are still owning people, at the end of the day. Freedom is something people will bleed for if it’s all they want. Soon enough, the kind slave owner was face-to-face with the boiling over of the rage that was stoked by his father and barely smothered by himself. It came in the image of split lips and bleeding teeth, of the flash of steel in tanned skin and the ruby red rivulets pouring from every embedded barb and painting the stake to which he was bound.

The time ticked on like water through stones in the Nile, the heat off of the sand almost a cooling breeze compared to the flames. They take everything from him: his clothes, his hair, his skin and bones and breath on a dying wind. Despite everything, despite all of the good he did for these people, he was still the symbol of the destruction of their lives. They could not see him as anything more than a lesser evil than his father, and that made the jackal pharaoh burn white hot with rage, hotter than the hellfire around him.

Before he hit the ground, he was hatching a plan. Something broke inside of him as he fell, blind and burning through the pits of hell. He was no longer compassionate and giving. No, that had been stripped from him just as his silks, gold and titles had. As his humanity had. As any remorse for what he was about to do had.

He was a good enough trickster, by the words of his mother anyway. He was always pulling pranks and tricks as a child, laughing with glee when someone slipped in oil and fell into feathers, or when someone sat on a prickled cushion. But this intensity, this was something more. He was addicted to power, he wanted to be drunk on it until the end of his days. He would do anything to get it back, including getting the Queen of Hell in bed and convincing her to wed him, a scraggly white jackal with teeth sharper than any knife hidden behind the snow-white fur of innocence.

Soon, those sharp teeth were brought to bear when she refused to surrender the throne. It was easy, easier than playing nice. A snap and a crunch and a slick wet slicing later, the hellfires enveloped the jackal but not to burn, but to welcome like the sun-warmed winds of Egypt, a place he once called home. As if they had been waiting for him all along, perched on the devil’s throne wearing a blackened iron crown. It sits heavy on his fur, a glinting darkness that rivals the inky blackness of the void, but warm as if it was a living, breathing being.

He was Silencium now. Satan. God’s betrayer. Carrying the mantle of the fallen angel. He wore it like a second skin, all glinting white teeth and eyes in the nightmares of mortality.

However, a king is only as strong as his line.

The person didn’t really matter, but the demon dwelling inside of it like a hibernating bear in its cave did. The demon was strong, a deep dark soul pulsing barely beneath the surface of this mortal. It was intoxicating, its sheer presence. And all it took to get that pretty mortal to agree was some honeyed words and the barest of touches. Mortality was the simplest being to manipulate, it was almost sad. The flirting, the dating, the engagement and marriage was done in a blink of an eye to the ageless king of hell.

Before Sil knew it, he was holding the princess of Hell in his arms, her power pulsing beneath the innocence of newborn skin. Ashe, like the ashfields holding the sins and souls of the damned, where the pained screams carried over the wing like a birdsong. Silencium’s favorite location.

However, he did not want the soft femininity of a girl to be his first in line to the throne of his realm. Returning the child to its mother, he never thought of them again.

But, his second holding of a child in Hell was the one he knew was worthy to bar his crown one day. A little boy with a fiery spirit already in one so young. He would do well to bear the mantle on his shoulders. But, for today, it was enough to feel the child grip his fur.

Drunk on power, he expanded his scope past the next generation of Hell’s monarchy. It started off as a few demons taken under his wing, previously dead and some of the gnarliest souls he’d ever witnessed walk past him. Nicotine. Deicide. Sucre. His generals in the increasingly dangerous demonic army Sil grew without a care. It was his to command. But even Icarus fell from his lofty ambition eventually.

After releasing his demons on earth to do as demons do, Sil’s came in the form of a general taking matters into his own hands with snarled words in the dark and blades sharper than the teeth of the jackal. He was swiftly stripped of his titles, of his ebony throne in his hall of night and his void-laced crown, now banished from his perfect home to walk the earth among humanity and mortality for all eternity. Or until he can take Hell again. Whichever comes first.

• He absolutely loves extreme pain, even in sexual context.
• He doesn't need to eat, but still devours other people and dead bodies.
• He crosses boundaries without any problems on his side.
• He can revive souls in any body, old or new. They become part of his army.
• He doesn't tell anyone he's lost the throne, deeply ashamed.
• Deep down, he wishes for redemption, but knows people will always seem him as evil.
• He only visited Egypt once after his death. He was visiting a pyramid with Eden, and accidentally found his grave. He never set foot in Egypt ever again.