Chapter I:Summer

episode one:

Brought into the world, kicking and screaming

Natasha's existence began quite painfully. Quite painfully, as a matter of fact. Her first sensation was that of a million claws rending her flesh-Because that was quite literally what was happening: A seething black mass of ghostly, featureless beings whirled around her like a tornado, Their long, thin arms that ended in wicked claws tearing at her. In seconds she was reduced to a quivering mass of blood and flesh, barely recognizable as human, but still, somehow, alive. Only then did the swarm subside, and Natasha found herself lying face-up in what seemed to be a train car, Its corrugated metal walls were lit only by the thin line of light that radiated from the trains huge doors that hung unclosed, in the way that only cargo train doors really can, seemed to almost sneer at her, and mock her mutilated state. Suddenly pillar of illumination grew slightly larger, and there was a terrible grinding sound that, again, only cargo train doors can make. The light was blinding. A collage of blue, yellow and white that was the sky tore at her eyes in the same way as the dark figures just moments before. She saw the shape of a man climb up and into the container. He stepped slowly towards her, his footsteps sounding most peculiar on the puddles of gore he walked on nonchalantly. Still indistinct, the man crouched down to her eye level, and simply stared at her for some considerable time, before something even worse began to happen. He began to breathe heavily, great, deep inhales through the nose, and equally impressive exhales through the mouth. Only instead of CO2, an odd substance, which seemed to exist in a state between gas and liquid, leaked from his mouth. The substance had the appearance of thin, congealed blood, yet at the same time was slightly translucent and, incedently, a rather pleasing shade of periwinkle blue. It began to coalesce on her body, replacing lost flesh and blood-Bones reconnected and forged themselves together while tendon knit themselves back into shape as nerves grew back and her skin stretched over the terrible wounds. Just as quickly as she had been torn apart, her body had been reassembled. Finally, the man's face came into focus-a broad, caring face, one that belonged to a man rapidly approaching his 50's. One of his eyes was a milky blue, and the other was a fiery orange, and his short hair and sparse beard were graying in several places. His face was altogether non-threatening, and Natasha's first impulse was to kill this man-But she was to weak, to drained from her ordeal. She slipped out of consciousness.

When she came to, the man was gone. No faceless form reached out from the shadows. The doors were still wide open, but the light was less harsh, and more like normal light. The day was pleasant, and warm. Birds sang and bees buzzed. And Natasha tried to figure out what the fuck just happened. Her earliest memory was being ripped apart-anything beyond that was a dark void, even darker than the void of lost memories, for in this void no memory ever existed. It was as though Natasha didn't exist before that agonizing, painful moment. Which made no sense. She knew she had to come from somewhere, because she already knew so many things-how to walk, how to speak, how think logically-And she couldn't have learned these things in that short period of time. A rather odd situation to be in, indeed. She stood up slowly, not fully trusting this new body. Beside the door were some clothes and a cracked hand mirror. Natasha decided to have a look. Her most striking features were her eyes, for the irises were pure black, and her pupils had a red tinge. Her hair was black and stringy, and extended down to her midsection. For the most part, she was attractive-She possessed a slender, foxlike face, a healthy figure, and, in all honesty and candor, nice breasts. She tossed the mirror aside and put the clothes on, the torn jeans and red tank top fitting perfectly. She laced up a pair of hiking boots and looked out the door. Ahead of her, a heavily grassed hill proceeded at a large decline toward a yew forest. It seemed as though she was right on the cusp of a valley. She found this quite inviting, and stepped tentatively outside. The air was warm and dry, much like the inside of a house with a well-stocked fireplace. On the Train car from which she emerged there was a marking, reading simply "Natasha" Along with some other, bizarre symbol she couldn't quite describe. There was another Train car much like his, but the Markings were to faded to read. It was deserted, anyways. More on instinct than actual choice, Natasha set off down the hill, towards the woods.

Natasha crouched behind a fallen log, careful not to disturb the creature. She had stumbled upon a grazing deer, and the animal had not yet noticed her presence. It nibbled idly on some grass. Carefully, calmly, Natasha stepped out from behind the grass. The doe didn't stop eating, but its eyes followed her as she got closer. She began to hold out her hand, trying to touch the animal, and at this the deer rose its head warily, but did not move. Surprisingly enough, her hand actually managed to connect with the animal's side before it darted away with bounding strides. She watched as it disappeared behind the canopy of leaves. She stood there for a moment, taking in the natural splendor. The yew was verdant, and the sun shone through the leaves, Painting the forest in various shades between yellow and green-So different from the Rusted prison in which her existence seemingly began. The air began to turn sour, and the suns glare became harsh, like that of a desert. In fact, Natasha was sure that the temperature had increased by a least 10 degrees in the past few seconds. She sensed someone behind her, and turned around. There was someone there. He was at least 7'2, with a burly figure and close cropped hair. He wore a trench coat and seemed to be afflicted by some sort of sickness. His eyes were red rimmed and foggy, and his skin was an unnatural, sickly shade of yellow pockmarked with a few sizable rashes. "Nice day out, isn't it?" He remarked as though nothing was wrong. "Ummmm…Sure, I guess?" She replied. Other figures began to appear in the trees: They walked with a disturbing, shambling gait. The man looked her over, and chuckled. "Your terribly new to all of this, aren't you? Feeling a little lost, Mayhap?" He asked. As the other figures approached, it became apparent that they were in even worse shape than this fellow-A fungus seemed to flourish on their bodies, and each one seemed to be in a different stage of being assimilated by the plant: Some barely showed it at all, while others had it practically blooming out of their skulls. They looked at Natasha with intense hunger. "So many things you don't know, so many things you'll never know, now that I've found you. I bet you don't even know who am, do you, little girl?" The Leprous brute said, with more than a hint of menace in his grating voice. Natasha was steadily backing away now, and preparing to flee. "Put into terms you would understand, I am simply the one who hunts things like you down…And end them." He said with a smile. That was all it took to send her running. "Go, my children." The man said, and the infected rushed past him, darting in between trees after their prey. There was a veritable army of them-They practically swarmed around the man. With a whisper, he added: "Run, little girl, run."

Natasha ran as fast as she could from the creatures pursuing her-She had no chance, not against that many of them. As she ran, the trees began to subside, and the ground grew more dry. She found herself running down a large gully, before she tripped on some loose gravel and fell, twisting backwards in the air. Almost as soon as she hit the ground, one of those things was on her, trying to choke her as the others swore around, eager to consume her flesh. Think quickly, she struggled to grab a nearby stick that looked thick and heavy enough for the job. She brought it hard against the creature's temple-CRACK! And the thing fell to the side, half of its skull crushed. She stood up fast, and beaned another one, breaking its neck on impact. She turned to face the next one, and struck down with a crushing blow. But one of them got her from behind, grabbing her and biting the base of her neck. She cried out in pain as the creature burrowed deeper into her flesh, but suddenly the pain subsided-Someone had pulled it off of her. She turned around just into time to see a big African American man turn the accursed wretch around and slam its head into the side of the gully. She heard gunshots, and several more of the infected fell to the ground, gaping holes in their torsos and heads. Another man was firing a handgun at them. The big guy grabbed her arm and led her away from. Natasha was began to ask who they were, but thought better of it. The infected gave chase, and the next thing she knew, they were on top of a cliff. A good 60 feet below them, a river churned a bubbled. "Goddamit, John! You took the wrong turn again!" The man with the gun exclaimed, firing a few more rounds behind them. John looked down at the river, then at Natasha, and without any hesitation, Jumped of the cliff. His companion noticed this, and he, to, jumped, all the while muttering about "That crazy old bastard". Natasha peered over the cliff, and the distance made her head spin. There was no way in hell she'd jump-But then another one grabbed her. Not feeling quite in the mood to be bit or strangled again at the moment, she gave it a hearty punch in the face, and changed her mind about the whole Jumping-into-the-river thing. Before she could stop herself, she felt the wind whistle by for few awful seconds, before hitting the water. Many people say that water hurts just as much as concrete when you hit it fast enough-But to Natasha, It felt even worse. She tumbled and spun under water, completely discombobulated. With a great deal of effort, she gained her bearings and brought her head above water. The current was strong, and she was going down the river quite quickly. She could see John and the other man standing on a sand bank, john with his hand out stretched to grab her. She forced herself to swim, reaching his arm and holding on for dear life as he pulled her out. But they were not out of the woods yet. Another infected, one that jumped off the cliff after her, exploded from the water and grabbed Johns ankle, toppling him and clamping its jaws down on his leg. They all struggled to keep out of the water but before anyone could do anything else, the man with the Pistol grabbed Johns other arm, and hauled them both out of the water. The man had changed considerably-And quite horrifically. His Skin was crisscrossed with Asymmetrical Stitches and leather straps that seemed to be holding him together. His whole body seemed to be made of mismatched parts, and along his spine, small copper spikes poked out that conducted electricity between them. He picked up the infected and tore it in two, right down the middle. Several more of them began to crawl out from the river bank, and he smashed at least 3 with a single sweep of his large, malformed arm. "Run!" He called out to the others, and they did. John led Natasha to a small town that was a few dozen yards up hill from the river. When she looked back, she could still see the man tussling with the creatures, but she and John were probably safe, judging from how he was doing. The man currently had several in his left arm, and swatted another with his right while crushing the unfortunate bastards in his grip. John led her into a ruined church, where there was a trap door under the pulpit that led to a basement. Their breath was short and ragged, and the darkness seemed was claustrophobic. John lit a match, and the two of them walked down the stairs into a small room that must've at one point served as storage space for the above church. In it, two dimly lit figures were sitting next to a fire, one was female, and Natasha wasn't quite sure what the other one was. At that moment, she realized something felt wrong with her knee, almost as if her joint wasn't in the right place…She chanced a look down, and her left kneecap was, indeed, jutting out of her skin at a rather peculiar angle that didn't seem altogether possible, and yet she wasn't in any considerable pain. She fell to the ground in shock. The person of indiscriminate gender snickered, xis face barely visible, but it was clearly grinning. "And this must be the new one you sensed?" It asked in an androgynous voice. "I'd guess so. Hey, Doc, see about that Leg she's got there. Seems to be freaking her out." The female, apparently Doc, stood up and walked calmly in the direction of Natasha, who was thoroughly freaking out-She had retreated to a corner and was making slight whimpering noises, yet made no resistance as Doc approached her. Her eyes began to adjust to the light, and she could see the others in better detail. Doc had neat, blond hair kept back in a ponytail and a very businesslike expression as she worked the troublesome bone back into place and sewed the skin shut over it. The other, whose gender still refused to make itself apparent, was wearing some kind of bloodstained red dress that cascaded to the floor, Complimented by Equally red, Cascading hair. This odd figure and John seemed to be discussing her. "Are you sure about bringing her into the throng? We can't afford any dead weight." Xe said, xis grin vanished and replaced by a very serious, slightly angered look. "I couldn't just leave her to die out there," John argued. "You should have seen how many of them were out there, surrounding her. She doesn't even know what she is, Midgara." He finished. The other one, whose name must have been (Quite oddly, Natasha thought) Midgara stammered a meager response, but it was useless against John. She could already tell just from the way he stood that he was stubborn and headstrong-He was one of those men that stood like a mountain, Vast and immovable. "All I'm saying is that we need to keep her a few days, show her the ropes, start her off on her pilgrimage. If you still think she's a liability at the end of a week, we'll see about parting ways." John instructed, And Midgara sullenly nodded. "Hey, guys? I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk like I wasn't here." She growled as Doc finished up her needle work. Her knee was good as new, and she didn't even hurt as she stood up. It occurred to her that this was the first time she had spoken, and not had it been a scream, or a fearful stammer. Her voice was low, and slightly weathered-She sounded a lot older than she looked. "Why don't one of you sort of explain things from the beginning for me?" She demanded. John sighed. "You're going to have trouble believing this, but you are something…more than human." He began to explain. "Less than human, too." Midgara quipped. John shot him a look that could kill most small mammals. "You are an alchemically created being, not born through the natural cycle, but through ancient magiks and deranged science. A promethean, if you will." He continued. Natasha simply nodded. John raised an eyebrow at this. "What, you expect me not to believe this? I've been torn apart by ghosts, chased by rotting cadavers and survived a head first drop into a river. This fits right in with today's theme of batshit insanity." Natasha said defiantly. "Okay then. Come, sit by our fire." John instructed. "Are you familiar with the story of Prometheus?" He asked. Natasha shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Doc pull out a small spiral bound notebook and scribble something down. "How odd. Some of us are born with a full understanding of the tale, and some of us aren't." She observed. John gave her another one of those death stares. Natasha was getting the sense that He was not a man that enjoyed interruption. "Prometheus was one of the titans, a race that existed before even the gods. He Created humans, and all other life, out of clay. He charged his brother, Epimetheus, to finish them, and give them the powers they needed to survive. But Epimetheus was foolish, and gave of these powers to freely, for when he came to the humans he had nothing to offer them, no fang, and no fur. Prometheus saw the weak humans cower in caves and dark places. He felt sad for his sickly children. He resolved to steal the divine fire, which gave the gods power, and give it instead to his humans. Prometheus planted the seed of all civilization that day, for humanity had discovered sentience. This enraged the gods, for without this divine substance, they would perish, and indeed they did-They faded away, their essence scattered into the cosmic wind. It is this divine substance that is referred to as 'Pyros.'. Pyros is what made you, it is what courses through you veins instead of blood. You follow so far?" John asked. Natasha digested it for a second, then said "Sure, go on." John stood, casting a long shadow. "This Pyros found a home in the soul of a select few mortals throughout time, called demiurges. We know them as Pygmalion, Isis, Ishtar-"When he said Ishtar, his face seemed to contort with disgust-"-Tengri, and most recently, Victor Frankenstein. These Demiurges were gifted with alchemy; the sacred science in which lead could be infused with pyros, and turned into gold, but in a more metaphysical sense-It can turn death to life. But Demiurges can only complete part of the process-The rest is up to the Promethean itself, to refine the pyros into a soul, through a process called the Pilgrimage. But to achieve this, much of the Pyros must leave the body, into another vessel-Another Promethean. And the end result of all this mysticism? Here we stand." He explained. "If I've been brought back from the dead, then why don't I remember anything about my past life?" She asked. Midgara spoke up this time. "He didn't say you were brought back to life. It helps to think of your body as the husk you happen to reside in at the time-The original owners long gone, so now you get to use it." John nodded. "In so many words, I suppose-"There was a loud SLAM! From above before he could finish. They turned to face the Cellar doors-There stood the man with the pistol, not looking quite as patched together and mutilated as he did outside, but still covered in a good amount of blood. "And this is Graham, The only one of us you haven't met." Stated Midgara as Graham stomped down the stairs and slumped onto the wall, sitting and staring at the fire. John noticed the surprised look on her face. John chuckled a little, a deep hearty chuckle. "What you saw out there was his disfigurements-The marring of flesh that mark us as Prometheans." He said. "Oh, so kind of like our true form?" Natasha asked. John shrugged. "That's debatable. I personally think that our true form is that which we achieve by becoming human, and our disfigurements are the false image." Natasha was a little distracted from what he was saying. Graham was quite a sight. By themselves, his body parts were attractive-A strong jaw here, A well developed a bicep there, a cute arse-But when they all came together, they just became kind of mismatched and jumbled, Like they didn't all belong on the same body. In a way, Natasha had a feeling that might be the case. But the thing that captivated her was his eyes. One was orange…and the other blue. She knew that it couldn't be the old man-The two looked nothing alike-But it still sent her reeling a bit. "Now what I want to know," John asked, "is how you managed to get that many Infected on your tail out there. You only see that many in the cities." Natasha came back to reality. "I…I don't know. There was this man, out there. Big, diseased, evil looking son of a bitch. It seemed like he controlled them." Graham's eyes jolted open as she said that. Midgara cut him off. "Don't start with your crackpot theories again, Graham. She doesn't need her head filled with old ghost stories." This piqued her curiosity. "What do you mean by that?" She asked. "The nuclear promethean." Graham said. Midgara grunted. "It's an abomination, a creature of the atom. It takes the infected, Gives 'em power. Takes over their twisted minds, and uses them as an army. He kills Prometheans, but for why, No one knows." He finished. "Not all of us believe in him. I've been the only one in this throng to see him. "He added, looking into the fire. It was dying down, now, merely embers. "Well then, now would be as good a time as any to get going." Doc said.

6/9/2034

We have acquired a new companion. John and Graham found her, And John has insisted on keeping her around. I personally must side with Midgara-There is simply no good reason to take along such an unexperienced individual on out journey. I know John will allow her to stay with us in the long-term, no matter what detriments it may have for the throng as a whole. Of our guest, I have, in fact, determined her lineage. I believe her to be Riven, a child of Ulgan.I am not familiar with this lineage, and Natasha-our guest-has not made research easy. She refuses to co-operate with my research. For now, all I can do is record down common knowledge: Riven are a lineage created using the element of spirit. They are said to have originated in Siberia, and were regarded as Shamans and gods in their homeland, able to speak with the dead and command spirits. This brat is certainly a far-cry from her ancestors. She is unobservant, and too young to even practice a refinement.

I do not like her.

-from Docs' Journal