Praxis - Black-eyed Demon

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✧Energetic
✧Comedic
✧Determined

Negatives (At Least 3):
✦Deceptive
✦Manipulative
✦Irritable

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Parents: N/A
Siblings: Other Demons
Other Family: N/A
Important Others: Belphegor
History: Praxis doesn't remember who he was when he was alive. All that he can recall is that he lived during a time people now call the Middle Ages and died young. He remembers the torment and that he was bludgeoned to death by crowd or community; the pain and anger being the only things keeping that in the back of his mind. In hell, he was just a tormented soul, pulsating with aggression and occasionally put onto the racks for lashing out. Multiple eternities would seem to pass with the torture and pain, eventually starting to form into pleasure. This seemed to catch the eye of Belphegor, who visited the racks often during this time. After some time, Belphegor seemed to take a shine to him and transformed him into a demon personally.

Shortly after the completion of his transformation, Praxis was offered to be the one operating the racks instead. He was hesitant at first, but it quickly became a rush to him, to cut and main into the souls of people who may have even been the cause of his death or similar. It helped that he was on the rack himself before, because he knew just where to make it hurt and what he could or couldn't do to a body, regardless of the fact that it would heal after he was done. In a way, that was the best part - his victims could be toyed with for as long as he wanted. He eventually took the name of Praxis, a creature of repeated practice.

While the racks were his primary form of entertainment, Praxis still owed everything to the one who made him who he was. Belphegor was the only entity who Praxis demonstrated any sort of fealty, working many favors and tasks for the prince, gaining himself much power and standing in the process, eventually having him be declared as Belphegor's right hand. That didn't mean he still didn't have his way while on assignment. Praxis had been known for causing some of the more gruesome accounts in demonic occult history in the human world. Over decades and centuries, Praxis has gone back from working the racks and working alongside his creator. Whatever goals they've had over the years, Praxis didn't care, he was just in it to make some fun for himself.




Alias: Matsu
How did you find us?: Already a member
Experience: Just a bit.
Other Characters: @alanryker
RP Sample: Praxis paced in the dark room, illuminated by a single light in it's entryway, observing the young man before him. Said young man was a hunter, or rather a fledgling one, that had caught Praxis' attention. Over the past year, he'd been observing him as his family was slowly ripped apart - sometimes literally - by his secret job and the creatures he hunts (which Praxis may or may not have had a hand in at sending them their way). The young man was tied up, bound to a child's chair wearing ragged clothes (some that Praxis had put on him while he was unconscious).

Praxis turned and paced back in the other direction, fiddling with the large bowie knife in his hands. You see, Praxis was monologuing, if you would call it that, explaining to the young man who he had recently introduced himself to, why he was going to die, and how painful it was going to be. Letting the last words he spoke sink in, Praxis stepped forward with a grin and tugged on the beanie on the young man's head. "I hope you enjoy your brother's little momento."

"Fuck you!" he spat back, a glare forming, showing some life was still in his eyes. Praxis chuckled. "'Fuck you, fuck yoooou...' Do you even know why you said that?" He paused, letting the glare on the man's face shift slightly into confusion before he continued. "No? No idea? Was it anger? Was it..." Praxis hopped twice, arms and legs placing themselves into a mocking cautious pose. "...trying to get footing, leverage in this situation, trying to make me think?" Praxis leaned in closer, placing his shadowed face a foot away from the man's. "See, I've interrogated lots of people, hurt lots of people, tortured lots of people, done terrible fucking things. I've had thousands of people - millions, BILLIONS - across my tables. And you'd be surprised at how many do that!" A quick poke with the knife placing the emphasis on the final word in his sentence.

Praxis stepped a little closer, crouching down to be more at eye level with the man. "One time, I had a guy's legs off, right? Hanging in front of him, and I was making them dance." He waved his arms about as if demonstrating the exact movements. "And he said 'Fuck you.' He said 'Fuck you, and go to Hell!'You know why? 'Cause he felt 'Got him! There's one punch I can throw, and that's it, a spit in the eye, a curse to the Heavens! Fuck that little bitch!'" He increasing leaned in closer, his hand making a fist right in front of the young man's face as he grew louder and more excitable. With a snicker, Praxis rose back to his feet. "You know how little it matters?" he started, his voice low, almost like a growl. "The last curses, the last desperate calls, an insult to me. When a pig squeals before it's slaughtered, do the butchers care? No. Some of them even relish." Praxis watched the mans' face fall before he walked forward and poked him with the knife again, a gleeful smile on his face. "So thanks!"

Praxis stepped back, re-centering himself before the man, seemingly starting to limber up before turning his head back at the man. "You ready?" He waited for the man to look back up at him before a sadistic smile grew on his face. "Because it's about to get a lot more fun in here!"



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