I own nothing except my OCs.
Earth:
65 million years ago...
The sky was blackened by the clouds of nuclear dust, white fires that spread from once pristine cities that destroyed millennia of knowledge and culture, technology of impossible advancement buried under layers of rock as a failsafe come their civilization's collapse. The survivors either retreating into the earth to await the end of this apocalypse and to reseed the planet or to stay above ground and indulge in the orgy of slaughter and madness.
The Ceimari gather around a fire that seemed to ascend beyond the skies. The Ceimari were an odd race, they were white humanoids that were absolutely angelic, they wore armor of light and gold, their eyes gleaming like the stars of the universe. If any human were to see a Ceimari, they would not ever able to shake the awe they saw in this race of angels laid low in spite.
"Hear us, Dark Gods!" One of the priests called to the great gods above, intensifying the storms to further heights, "Grace us and this world in your beauty and radiance! Let the tide of blood and decadence consume the world!"
Blackened ash filled skies came to the beings that once inhabited the grounds of prehistoric Terra, desperate to rise out and flee from the oncoming apocalypse as... something came down, burning brightly against the light devouring clouds before it crashed into the earth below, sending entire sections of the mountains into the air and reducing them into dust from the blast.
Suddenly, as they were about to commence the ritual, the high priest was suddenly shot in the heart by a beam of light, falling dead as the others were then shot in either the head or heart, destroying the cult as their bodies fell into the pillar of flames. With that done, the last of the Ceimari above ground turned to the oncoming storm from the build-up of energy from the reactors and the masses from the Sea of Souls that the cults brought into the world.
The one Ceimari left merely stood against the blast of the storm, looking like a repentant man before he spoke in a rueful tone, "I am a good man... At least, I pray that I am."
Those were his last thoughts before the end came to him and those left.
The energy burst across the world, destroying everything. The sound of fire and death boomed in the waking chaos. Ceimari, animals, entire civilizations, and ancient cultures long forgotten, wiped away in a moment. Crevasses bursting with magma, debris exiting the atmosphere, forests and deserts burning and glassing. The dying screams of the many falls in abyssal silence.
The oceans and arctic disappear in the black clouds, mountains and landscapes crumble and dissolve. Echoes of the dying drown in storm and flame. Cracks and crevices being formed and destroyed. Crimson lightning blazing like bloodstained arrows, the sunlight fading from the world as the dark clouds cover the world in a blanket of ash, fire, and darkness. The piercing wind uprooting the dead flora and fauna, the flaming clouds spreading their ashes over the red desert. The once green plains are now red, never to bloom again. Every crack, pit, and plains coated in the world's blood. The ocean once teeming with life, now has little. The sky becomes a crimson hue as the dead world now roams with nothing more than eidolons of dreams long dead.
There is only silence as the once living world continues spinning.
65 million years later
Rever Bay High School
It was a normal day in the small and quiet fishing town of Rever Bay. It was cloudy and looking like it was about to rain while miserable parts dropped off their miserable children at a miserable school in a miserable town. The teenaged or young adult students marched into the main entrances of the school, their backpacks filled with books and homework that seemed heavier than rocks.
They all shouldered to their classes, looking forward to the miserable day that was going to follow after the disaster that was yesterday. But little do the students know that after today, their lives would never be the same, each being a story to tell.
The characters we follow in this chapter are as followed.
Mark Eyre: a 5'8 geek with short brown hair and green eyes covered by horn-rimmed glasses, having a scrawny figure covered by a white dress shirt under a brown dress jacket, black khakis, and red tennis shoes. He was currently shuffling his papers in place and placing his pen and pencils in the right place, thinking about what he's going to do when he gets out of this shithole town.
Mattew Konover: a 6'1 bully with brown shoulder length hair that framed his face and brown eyes, having a muscular figure from his afterschool job as a dockworker, dressed in a black shirt with a red hoodie, brown cargo pants, and red sneakers. He sat down at his desk and sat his backpack down, running his hands down his face as he mentally prepared himself for another mind-numbing day at school.
Rachel Piers: a 5'6 goth chick with black messy hair that was covered by a beanie and blue eyes, having a body and figure that one could mistake for a college girl, dressed in a black shirt under a black hoodie with a skull design on the back, black pants and black boots. She was currently sitting at her desk and listening to death metal on a pair of headphones while drawing some daemonic and metal album cover imagery in her notebook to kill time.
Bob Aimes: a 6'2 loner with messy black hair and dull brown eyes, having an average build that was covered in a black shirt under a zipped up grey hoodie, black pants and grey sneakers. He was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, just wanting to shut out the world and for this day to be over with.
Debra Silver: a 5'4 emo girl with long black hair and bored blue eyes, having a face covered in white make-up, black lipstick and eyeliner. She had a petite frame that was covered by a loose-fitting black and white stripped long sleeve shirt over a black tank top, black pants, and black sneakers. She was at her desk with her head resting on her hand with an apathetic look on her face while listening to heavy metal music on a pair of headphones and drawing in her notebook like Rachel, in her case, a city burning.
Tommy Sonana: a 6'2 guy with short brown hair and steel blue eyes, having an average build that was covered in a blue shirt under a Demin jacket, Demin jeans, and black slip-on shoes. He currently had a laid-back expression as he laid against his chair while reading a book about the ocean.
Ben Irons: a 6'4 teacher with short brown hair and tired brown eyes, having a leaner frame that was covered by an orange dress shirt and red pinstripe tie, black dress pants, and black polished shoes. He was currently walking down the hallway to his classroom, looking as miserable as his students while fidgeting with his handbag filled with papers.
Last but not least, Ian Halls: a 6'3 guy with lightly pale skin and baggy blue eyes and shaggy brown hair, having a stick figure that was only skin and bones that was covered by a white long-sleeve shirt under a white hoodie and a Demin jacket, Demin jeans, and black slip-on shoes. He was currently scribbling surreal imagery into his notebook and desperately trying not to draw any attention to him.
Irons entered the classroom with the students quickly putting their stuff away; Mark adjusting his posture, Matt just swallowed a groan and pretended to pay attention, Rachel put away her headphones and turned to a blank page in her notebook, Bob merely exhaled and made it look like he was paying attention, Debra apathetically removed her headphones and packed them in her backpack, Tommy closed his book and put it in his backpack, and Ian turned to an empty page on his notebook.
"Good morning class." Mr. Irons started in a tired tone as he set his bag down on his desk, "Today we will be discussing the atmosphere today. So please open your textbooks to page 321." The class did so and for the next few hours or perhaps it was only thirty minutes, none of them could tell. Most tuned out his words, others paid attention and wrote it down, and others merely pretended to pay attention but drew or wrote things while he was talking.
After he was finished with his lesson, knowing 2/3rds of the class weren't listening but barely having the energy to care, Mr. Irons sighed and finished with, "And that is all for today class. Your homework for the weekend is a one-thousand-word essay on why the sky is blue."
Several students moan at the assignment, while Debra muttered in annoyance, "Joy. Homework."
"I don't think it's enough." Mark gave his thoughts out loud before he asked the teacher, "Can you make it two thousand words?"
"Shut up, Mark!" Matt said as he slapped Mark in the arm who yelped at the pain as the other students looked at the nerd in shock.
"All right, if you insist." Irons replied with a shrug before he then announced to the class, "Because of Mark's insistence, I've raised it to a two thousand words essay."
The other students let out loud groans at the prospect of doing even more homework while Tommy yelled out in anger at having to do even more work than what the teacher planned, "WOW! Look what you did Mark!"
"Come on, Mark! You stupid nerd!" Matt yelled out in anger before he slugged Mark across the face, slapping the glasses off him.
"Yeah, you nerd!" Bob yelled, standing up before he grasped the front of Mark's desk and flipped it over with Mark's head slamming into the floor along with his body as he yelped at the sudden action. Recovering from the punch, Mark moaned in pain before he felt around the ground to try to get his glasses.
"You deserve that." Rachel bitterly remarked with the other students making disgruntled sounds of agreement and Debra spat at him in disgust.
Mr. Irons merely sighed and bitterly finished the class off with, "Class dismissed." The students all gave their responses by being silent and getting up from class and walking out, leaving Mr. Irons to sigh again and bitterly think about how his life went wrong.
Rever Bay Suburbs
School ended just the same as it did every day; the teacher of their last class finished their lesson for the day and gave their homework and they got out of the front doors and miserably either got into their parent's cars or walked home. With Mark and Matt, it was the latter as they miserably came home to their parents. On the way, nether of the two spoke even as they walked for a mile and a half to their houses.
They saw Rachel flip Bob off as he made an advance on her while walking home, Tommy got in the car with his dad, Debra got picked up by her brother, and Ian got on the bus with Bob that then took of just a second later. The two of them looked at each other, thinking about how they got to this point; Mark was a meek boy that used to be Matt's best friend when the former was getting picked on by the bullies in kindergarten, but over the years, both of them just sort of grew apart, shaped by their experiences and interests.
When they came to the houses that were separated by the street, the two were about to separate when Mark meekly asked his former best friend, "Hey, Matt?"
"What?" Matt replied without looking at the nerd, looking half ready to just blow him off and get it over with.
"You wanna go to the old gold mine?" Mark's reply made the bully stop and turn to the mathlete with a surprised expression, making him flinch and meekly request again as he squirmed slightly, "You know? Just like old times?"
Matt was silent as his eyes made contemplative movements around the area, looking down as gears turned in his head before he looked up and gave his answer, "Ah, what the hell? I've got the day off anyway. See you at 6:00."
Mark nodded and gave a smile as the two separated and entered their houses.
Mark's House
Mark slowly entered his home as the door with the glass design opened up, "Mom, I'm home." He called out to his mother while looking up in the middle room.
Footsteps from the upstairs came his way as his mom descended the stairs; a 40-year-old woman with black hair tied to a ponytail while wearing a yellow sweater and Demin jeans with pink socks. She had a smile on her face as she came down and said, "Hi, Mark! How was-" She went silent when she saw the massive bruise he had on his left cheek, putting her hands to her mouth as she breathed out while walking up to him and putting her hand on his cheek, "Oh, my God. Mark, who did this?"
"I just got hit with a baseball. I-It was an accident, mom." Mark lied as she looked him over. He'd gotten good at that ever since he started getting bullied in high school. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would get but they could get to him sometimes.
"Oh, poor baby." His mother hugged him and took him to the kitchen, sitting him down to the kitchen table as she went to the refrigerator to get him an icepack.
He didn't mind that his mother did these even as his father came home and saw him holding the icepack to his cheek. He told his father not to worry as his mother began to cook his favorite meal. Things like this just fueled his ambitions; one day, he'd graduate and make it big on campus, gain his doctorate, then leave this shithole town and never look back.
Still... that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the now at least.
Matt's House
Matt came to his house where he lethargically opened the door to the living room where a familiar sight came to him; his 33-year-old mother laying on the couch with an empty bottle in her hands, only in her underwear while passed out. She was attractive for any guy other than him, which may explain why she spent so long going to other guys and sleeping with them.
In the kitchen, his 35-year-old father sat at a table, cooking dinner for his drunk wife and coworker son while still having that perpetual expression like someone ran over his dog the other day. He turned to see Matt waking in and setting his backpack down on the perpetually empty chair where his mother would sit, mutter out to his father, "Hey, dad."
"Matt." His father replied grumpily as he fried some bacon on an old frying pan while flipping them with a black rubber spatula. It was then that Matt saw that a carton of eggs was sitting beside the stove.
"Bacon and eggs for dinner?" Matt couldn't help but to ask.
"We're out of sardines so I had to make do." His father answered gruffly before he turned to his son, "Matt, can you be a pal and go to the grocery store? Your mother won't do it despite me constantly asking her to!" He finished by yelling at his drunken wife who was still on the couch, who responded by raising her hand and apathetically flipping him the bird.
Matt sighed in annoyance and muttered out as he pulled out a comic book, "Fine. I'll go by six." Today was one of the many days that he despised working at the docks with his dad, despite the fact that it was his day off.
Rachel's house
Rachel came home to the same sight as always; her parents drinking in the living room, barely even reacting to her presence until she closed the door. Her father: a 33-year-old man with unkept black hair and a heavy beard, dressed in a wifebeater stained with beer and sweat that thankfully hid his hairy beer belly, while his legs were also hidden by a pair of filthy sweatpants. He noticed her and muttered out in a foul-smelling breath, at trying to sound concerned in a slurred tone, "Hey, Rachel. How was school today?"
His daughter's reply was nothing more than an apathetic one, "It was fine, dad."
Her 32-year-old mother didn't even try to sound concerned as she waves her half empty can of Bud Lite, "Good, now go to your room. Me and your father want some peace!" Her mother had long brown hair and was still attractive, having a loose-fitting low cut white shirt that exposed her collarbone and black bra, and a pair of shorts that barely hid anything.
Rachel didn't even dignify her with a response as she walked to her room across the hallway, entering the door and closing it almost immediately after. Her room was like any goth's room; gothic posters on purple painted walls, a mirror with several cosmetics strewn about, black and dark clothing in her closets, and pornographic magazines hidden under her bed with dark sheets
Tossing her backpack to the floor, taking off her hoodie and beanie before flopping onto her bed and screaming into her pillow, desperately needing to vent her frustrations at something. At least, she had other methods. Rachel pulled out her phone and slowly slid her pants off as she searched X-rated films on the internet.
Oh, what she wouldn't give to be an aristocrat. At least she's have more fun with her life.
Bob's house
Bob remained silent as he and his parents ate dinner at their rectangular table in their two-story home. It was meatloaf and spinach today, that he either played with out of boredom or ate it and letting its disgusting taste grace his tongue. When he finally had the energy to speak, he decided it might as well get the cat out of the bag, "Dad, I'm supposed to get a partner for gym on Monday."
"With whom?" His father replied as he ate a forkful of meatloaf, not even looking at him. His father was a 57-year-old man with black greying hair and a full beard and mustache, dressed in a blue cashmere vest over a white dress shirt, blue khakis, and blue dress shoes. His father wasn't the most emotional types of people, introverted and buried in his work, if well meaning. They had their rocky parts, but they were still father and son.
"Some kid." Bob replied, not wanting to get into details just letting them know.
His father's reply was an apathetic "Oh."
His mother glared at his father and shouted at his father in anger, "Don't just 'Oh' him, Thomas!" His mother was a 49-year-old woman with short brown hair styled in a bob, wearing a white long sleeve shirt that seemed way too clean and black slacks with red socks. His mother was more caring than his father, but Bob admits that she could be a bit smothering and overbearing sometimes. Still, she was his mother.
"Yeah, don't just 'Oh' me!" Bob shouted at his father.
"I'll 'Oh' whoever I want!" His father retorted before he and his wife started getting into an argument over how they should raise their son. Bob merely sighed and continued to eat his food.
Debra's apartment
Debra cracked open a can of beer and slammed it down, same as her brothers as they all drank to relax after a stressful day. Their mother was in the living room, watching her stupid sitcoms while they were busy making themselves dinner because she was too lazy to do it herself.
Her eldest brother slowly patted her on the back to cheer her up as he went to make dinner for her and her brothers, but Debra just sighed to herself as she started drawing in her notebook; be it explosions, towns on fire, people screaming as they were being burned alive, and demonic creatures rising from the pits of hell to feast on the world. She desperately wanted to get out of this skin of hers and indulge in the thoughts that plagued her head.
"Debby." Her mother called morosely to her, prompting her daughter to look up from her notebook. Her mother was an attractive woman with pale skin and long black hair, silvery eyes, her body covered by a black tanktop and black Demin jeans. There was something behind her mother's eyes that scared Debra, something predatory and controlling like the pull of a monster.
"Yes, mom?" Debra asked meekly as she slowly stood up and walked to her mother who merely gave an annoyed look.
"Get out and get me and your brothers more beer. Need an ID, use mine." Her mother replied, pulling out an ID from her pocket and bequiffed it to her daughter.
Debra took the card and submissively replied, "Alright, mama." With that, she slowly moved to the door and exited, waving to her brothers who waved back as she closed the door on her way out.
Tommy's house
Tommy chugged down an energy drink as he played Left 4 Dead 2, deciding to do his work later. His room was unsurprisingly unorderly for a laidback teenager, a bed with dark blue sheets on a wooden floor with discarded clothing strewn around, shelves filled with folded clothes and books stacked on top of them, a TV sitting on a shelve in front of his bed.
"Tommy!" His dad called from downstairs, causing him to pause the game and go to the door, opening the door to reveal his father. His father was a 49-year-old hardcase with short greying brown hair, a lightly wrinkled face, hard blue eyes, and dressed in a heavy green jacket over a white shirt and Demin jeans with black rubber boots.
"Hey, dad; what's up?" Tommy said from upstairs.
"Got a call. Donny called in sick. I gotta go in and cover for him." His dad answered, looking like he was expecting a hard day, "I'll leave you to yourself but if you want to go out, be sure to lock up and take the spare keys."
Tommy nodded with a mock salute, "Alright, dad. See ya in the morning."
His father nodded back and walked away, twirling his keys and whistling as Tommy heard him open the door and close on the way out. Walking back to his room, Tommy flopped onto his bed and resumed his game, but a few minutes after, he turned his head to the window at the gold mine near his house. It started irking him as he paused his game and turned to the window again, contemplating whether he should or shouldn't.
"Ah, what the hell." Tommy muttered as he got up and marched downstairs, grabbing the keys and locking up as he marched out of the house. Just a little hike through the woods couldn't hurt right?
Ben's apartment
Irons poured rum into his Coca-Cola and then started chugging it down, glad that the principle gave him the weekend off. His dress shirt and tie were undone, revealing a wifebeater as he watched TV. His apartment was small and only had a living room and bedroom, a small TV and couch, a minifridge, and a small bed.
He wondered how it all went wrong. It all started that day at the casino, where he gambled his money away, cursing himself for not stopping even if he was on a hot streak. It only went further downhill after he had to flee Massachusetts after a money laundering scam that went wrong. Then he attempted to rob a bank in a desperate attempt to get enough money to survive, but even that went wrong when the police managed to catch up to them and he only escaped because he convinced them at the robber held him hostage.
4 years of teaching had drained him of his enthusiasm for anything that made him happy, and the main thing he wants is to get as much money as he can so he can quit his job as a teacher and get out of this crap town.
Ben sighed as he finished his rum and coke and turned off the TV, maybe he just needed a walk in the woods to clear his head.
Ian's house
Ian merely took his pills for his mental problems, swallowing them with the assistance of a glass of water. The drug's effects would take a minute to take hold, letting him rest his body on his bed. He'd been having problems with mental illness for years, trying to deal with hearing voices and seeing things that weren't there, and tons of fear and anxiety.
Thinking about what he must do when he graduates from high school, Ian looked at the drawings on his desk by the side of his bed. They were about the things in his head; sometimes they were featureless faces grasping at hands, other times it was creatures that came through someplace dark and cold, but many times they were horrifying and dark.
Suffice to say, his family and friends tended to be rather scared of his drawings. His mother at one point asking him what the hell he was thinking when he drew any of these, but he never had an answer.
Ian was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard his mother open the door, peaking in to check on him, "Ian? Have you taken your medicine?" His mother was a 39-year-old woman with long platinum blond hair and blue eyes, wearing a black long-sleeve shirt and Demin jeans. His mother was as affectionate as any mother would be, but he was getting worried that her concern for him was weighing down on her.
"Yeah, I just took them, mom." Ian replied, seeing the relief wave over her before a thought came to him, "Hey, mom? Can I go out? I just want to get some fresh air." He said it in a way as to not make her worry about him.
His mother looked incredibly conflicted but acquiesced, "...Okay, one hour and then come home." Ian nodded before he grabbed his leather jacket and put it on as he descended the stairs to go to the forest, not paying attention to his father and his sister looking at him as he walked out of the house.
His father was a 50 year old man with prematurely grayed hair, a war hardened face from being a general before being honorably discharged, steel blue eyes, and a tired look that always accompanied him. He wore a white shirt under a dark green and black checkered flannel, Demin jeans with faded color, and suade shoes.
His sister was a 16 year old girl with short brown hair like her brother, compassionate blue eyes, and a concerned look as she watched her brother walk out of the house again. She was wearing a red shirt under a grey hoodie, brown pants, and black shoes.
Rever Bay Gold Mine
A van rode through the path in the hillsides, reaching the precipice to a pair of metal wire gates that led to the gold mine. Inside the van was Matt and Mark, the former now driving the latter's father's van to the gold mine. Though judging by the confused expression on Matt's face, this wasn't what he was expecting.
"When you said go to the mine, I thought you meant that we would just go to the outskirts of the mines. Not..." Matt paused, trying to form the words until he gave up and decided to just wing it, "This." He motioned to the gate to the mine for his point.
"I know." Mark replied, not looking at him with no room for argument in nether his tone nor his voice, "Just keep driving." The bully looked at him with a weirded-out look but acquiesced and drove right through the gates to the mine, breaking the restraining chains and swinging them open as they sped through the path to the mines and avoid the workers in the distance.
"If we find something cool, we can keep it. Deal?" Mark suggested, causing Matt to nod before the latter paused. A contemplative look came over him as he fiddled his thumbs on the wheel before he decided to come out with it.
"Look, I'm sorry about punching you in class, okay? I was... I was just mad, all right?" Matt sincerely apologized as he turned to the occupant in the passenger seat.
"No, it's fine. I just..." Mark replied before he sighed and gave his honest thoughts and motivations, "I have high hopes for my future, okay? I plan to get a doctorate in physics."
"That's fine but sue me for being having humble goals." Matt shrugged, something that baffled Mark so much that he was at a loss for words for a moment before he then gave his thoughts again.
"You know; I don't get you, all right?" Mark replied as he's honestly stunned that his former best friend didn't want to be something more, "You're okay with being a dockworker for the rest of your life? What about boxing or being a guard for a research facility? Don't you want something more?"
"Not really. I admit, I'm not that happy with being a dockworker but it pays the bills and gives me time to bond with dad." Matt replied, not seeing why Mark was baffled at his contentment, "Ambitions aren't everything, dude."
Mark still had a baffled look on his face but didn't press it as he shook his head and replied, "Look, just park near that cliff away from the other workers." Matt nodded and drove the van to the cliffside, parking to the edge of the road that was far enough from the workers that they could not be seen. The two got out before Mark opened the trunk to reveal a large black plastic container.
Matt gained a surprised look, turning to Mark and pointing to the container, "What's in that?"
"Homemade explosives. Took me a month to make them." Mark said in a disturbingly casual tone as he and Matt grab it and heave it out of the container of the trunk.
"Dude, you fucking scare me." Matt remarked even as they got to the cliffside. Once they got to the part that Mark instructed them to go after ten minutes of trekking, the two set the container down and forced the lid open, revealing several hundred sticks of what he assumed was homemade dynamite and some wires connected to a detonator. Matt gained an impressed expression as Mark put on a hard hat and gave him another.
"Here's what I happened." Mark began to explain what they were doing here, as he and Matt grabbed some sticks from the container and started sticking them into the various holes in the cliff, "I came here last week and dug a little deep into the cliff. Suddenly, I came across some crystals imbedded in the pebbles and took them to the science room. But when I got it through a test, the system didn't know what it was looking at."
"What? So, it's like an unknown type of crystal?" Matt asked as he placed a stick into one of the holes in the wall.
"That and it emits a kind of energy signature that it's never seen before." Mark explained as he connected the wires together, "So, I thought 'Hey, get famous finding a new kind of crystal and get to hang out with my old friend.'"
Matt only grunted as he set up the detonator after placing the last stick of dynamite.
XXX
Bob whistled as he walked around the woods, thinking to himself as he looked around the forest around the mountain range, watching nature was the only thing that he liked except for possibly action films. The sounds of birds and wild animals came from all around, trees with leaves that shrouded the skies and blocked the setting sun's light, the sounds of rushing water coming from the river away from him.
He didn't understand why people thought nature was kind and gentle. Real nature would tear your skin off and use it as a cloak.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw someone standing at the cliffside, doing yoga poses like nobody was watching. Bob got curious and started walking towards the hill, wondering who that could be. As he got closer, he could hear the person grunting as she changed poses and bobbed her head at music. He got closer and vaguely heard some music, but when he reached her, it all made sense.
It was Debra, doing poses with a pair of white headphones while listening to Slayer. She gave one last stretch, popping the joints in her arms before she noticed Bob coming her way from the path to the hill. Instead of freaking out, Debra merely gave a scoff, "What? Saw something you like?"
"Not really." Bob replied bluntly, walking up to her, "Just wondering what you're doing out here in this part of the woods."
Debra shrugged and said in a bitter tone, "My dear mother sent me out to get some drinks. I decided to come here and clear my head before I go to the store and get her drinks."
"Damn." Bob replied, having a surprised expression on his face before the two turned their attention to the setting sun, "...It's pretty out here."
"Yeah." Debra replied, though internally she didn't share the same sentiment as he did about the planet, "Honestly, I hate this world and all the people on it. I just want to see it all burn to ashes."
Bob only gave an annoyed grunt. Typical nihilists.
XXX
Tommy walked along the edge of the stream toward the mountains, thinking about the fish and how it must feel to be constantly in the water. For some reason, he could never stop thinking about the ocean, sharks, or what it must have felt like during the pirate era. He supposed that he was the kind of guy who wants to be on the ocean and enjoy the adrenaline high that came with it.
It was then that Tommy noticed someone standing on top of a cliff, getting a closer look at the person. It was Rachel from his class, now only in her underwear as she jumped off the cliff and dove into the water, making a massive splash. Her action certainly attracted Tommy who trekked towards the pool where she jumped into, coming to the edge of the body of water as she emerged for breath.
"Water feels nice, huh?" Tommy replied as he looked down on her swimming towards him.
"Yep." She replied, giving a smile as he helped her out of the pool and gave her a towel to dry off. After a while, she got dressed and the two went to the cliffs that overlooked the town and the ocean.
"So, what're you doing up here?" Tommy asked her, wondering why a goth chick like her would be in the forest.
"My house isn't that far from the mountains." Rachel said as they sat on the cliffside, staring down at Rever Bay whose lights was like a vast field of fireflies, "I mostly just hike these trails sometimes to clear my head. And then I stare down at Rever Bay and wonder how such a small crap town can cause me such misery."
Tommy just gives a chuckle to girl who looks at him strangely, "What? Do you think that's funny?"
"No, just thinking about how I almost feel the same." He replied, thinking about what it could be that he was agreeing with her.
Rachel rolled her eyes and muttered, "God, what I'd give to be an Aristocrat. You're rich, you can look down on anybody you'd want, you can fuck whatever man or woman you want, and nobody would be able to do anything."
"Eh, I guess it'd be more fun." Tommy shrugged, looking back at Rever Bay, "Still, this life ain't so bad."
"Says you." Rachel muttered under her breath, wishing to just escape her dull life, "I could leave here you know?"
Tommy scoffed, "Where?"
"God, anywhere." Rachel bluntly replied to the fisherman's boy.
A smile then crossed his face, surprising Rachel, "Then let's go."
That definitely got her attention as she turned to him and said with a surprised look, "What?"
"Let's go. Let's leave." Tommy repeated to her.
She laughed and rolled her eyes, "You'd never do it."
Tommy smiled and crossed his arms, giving a confident look, "Try me."
"Oh, what, you and me?" Rachel crossed her arms in return, a smile managing to creep onto her features, "You got a car?"
"My dad has a van he rarely uses."
Rachel playfully cringes, "Ooh, that's creepy."
Tommy laughs as he replied, "It's not that kind of van."
"Every van that kind of van." Rachel jokingly replies, a little charmed by the guy.
"So, let's go." Tommy motions to the street that leads out of Rever Bay.
A look crossed her face as she smiled, "Are you daring me? 'Cause I'll go."
"Well, let's see." Tommy winked at her, causing her to blush slightly, smitten by his smoothness.
XXX
Ian for some reason decided to hike near the mountain near the old gold mine, deciding it might be a good escape from the bright lights and loud noises from Rever Bay. As he hiked through the mountains, he couldn't help but to look around and see how far he had gotten; he reached to where Rever Bay could be seen in the distance, lights glimmering like a swarm of fireflies. It was breathtaking.
But then the sound of footsteps took him out of his thoughts, making him turn to his right to see someone beside him. It was Mr. Irons, who was dressed in a leather jacket over his orange dress shirt, and a pair of black pants and black boots, with a flashlight in his hand. Judging by the look on his teacher's face, he was just as surprised to see him.
"Mr. Irons? What are you doing here?" Ian asked his teacher, who came to him.
"Nothing, Ian, just wanting to clear my head. What are you doing here?" Irons asked his student as he took out a flask and unscrewed it before taking a drink.
"Same." Ian replied honestly, reaching out and grasping the flask for a drink himself. The two decided to sit down near the cliffside, looking over the town of Rever Bay and all its pretty bright lights while sharing his flask of liquor.
"You know something Ian? I could have gotten into the military industrial complex, gotten into the weapon designing industry, gotten rich off my work!" Irons ranted on before a bitter expression overtook his face, "Instead I'm here in this small hick town because one stupid mistake. I made one stupid mistake and I lost everything I ever worked for."
"Damn." Was all a wide-eyed Ian could say as he took a slip of liquor, "That must suck balls."
"It does." Irons growled out, thinking about the millions he could have made with his designs.
Ian merely shook his head, "I don't think there's much hope for my future to be honest. I've been diagnosed with schizophrenia. So, either I get help, or I'm stuffed into a mental ward for the rest of my life."
Irons gained a surprised expression before it shifted into a sympathetic one. Greedy as he may be, he wasn't devoid of sympathy, "Damn..."
Ian let a small smirk come to his face, "But hey, Rever Bay ain't that bad. It's half as long-"
"-But twice as bright." Irons finished with a small smile of his own.
Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the mountain, nearly causing the two to jump out of their skin. The two turned to the source of the explosion and then looked at each other before they bolted to their feet and ran to the sight of the explosion... not seeing several others running towards the explosion like them.
XXX
After the dust and rubble settled from the explosion, Matt jumped from behind his cover when the explosion went off, running to the smoldering rubble and seeing Mark stumble out with the light on his hardhat dislodged but hanging by its wires. "Oh, that really rung my bell." Mark muttered in a daze as he fell into Matt's arms before he saw the others coming towards them.
It was Bob, Tommy, Rachel, and Ian along with Mr. Irons. The six were never friends, just kids who happened to be in the same school as each other, so it was weird see them out of the classroom.
"What the hell are you guys doing?!" Mr. Irons pushed the other kids out of the way as he helps Matt stand up along with Mark muttering out.
"Look, it's a long story, but-" Mark was cut off when a voice echoed out from above.
"HEY!" They all turned to see Debra on the cliffside, looking down on them from the edge, "You guys looking to get busted or something?! This place is a restricted area!"
"Oh, really, Einstein? Restricted?" Bob retorted as he got in front of the group and yelled at Debra, "As in, we shouldn't be standing on crazy rocks doing Karate Kid moves?"
"Uh, guys?" Mark said when he saw several cracks begin rapidly forming in the stonewalls.
"Yeah, or wondering through the forest like a treehugger! Seriously, you'll alert security!" Debra retorted to Bob. Suddenly, the edge collapsed taking Debra along with it, screaming as the others dove out of the way while Bob dashed and caught her, but the force caused him and her to fall to their backs. Debra groaned and rolled off Bob, who merely grunted and stood back up on his own while others helped Debra up.
"You guys, okay?" Bob called out, causing the others to signal and say they were fine.
"I'm good." Rachel said as she dusted her hoodie sleeves off from the dust that fell on her.
Rocks continued to fall, bit by bit revealing a baleful multicolored light so intense that it caused them all to avert their eyes from the brightness. The moment their eyes adjusted to the light, they were left speechless; it was a wall of crystals, each emitting a bright everchanging colored light and in a randomized and lopsided structure.
"Whoa..." Mark and Matt said at the same time as they stared at the impossibly beautiful crystals as did the others. Rachel's jaw was on the floor as was Debra's, while Tommy, Bob, and Ian all had astonished expressions, and Irons was rendered speechless.
"I... I don't recognize these crystal structures." Irons replied as he examined the crystals from a distance, worried about what could be causing that light, "It's definitely not diamond or obsidian, it's not quartz or Amythest, and definitely not bismuth."
"Well... It's clearly some kind of crystal, Mr. Irons." Ian meekly replied as he tried to hide behind the others out of fear.
"Yeah, some kind of weird-ass glow crystal." Rachel replied sarcastically as she crossed her arms but couldn't contain the curious look on her face.
"Can one of you get me a pickaxe?" Irons asked, the others causing the others to look at him incredulously, "Relax, I'm just going to take a sample. Then we'll get out of here and I can go to the school to study it."
The others looked at each other before Ian decided to acquiesce, picking up a pickaxe and bequiffed it to Irons. The teacher slowly approached the mass of radiant crystals with sweat pouring out of his head, hoping that there wouldn't be some violent reaction to him taking a sample from the others. Raising the pickaxe up above his head, Irons prayed that there wouldn't be an explosion as he brought it down.
The small crystal broke off from the mass of other crystals, ticking to the ground harmlessly. Irons opened his eyes, seeing that he was still alive, and that the crystal was just on the ground. Seeing that nothing happened, Irons breathed out in relief before he took out an empty canister and placed the sample into it, closing it and turning to his students, "Okay, let's-"
He was cut off when alarms sounded off around them, the mine's security were after them.
"Oh, shit! Security!" Irons cursed as he realized the explosion must have caught their attention.
"Someone should have pointed that out. Oh, wait. I did." Debra sarcastically replied to the others with a smug smile which disappeared with a yelp when Rachel slugged her in the arm.
"They're a little late though." Matt pondered, but shook it off and yelled out, "Everyone, get to my van before security gets here!"
The group immediately got the hell out of Dodge as they raced down the trail to Matt's van, which than fully was not that far away. Before they got into the van, Matt and Mark first chucked the stuff they brought back into the truck before they got into the driver and passenger seat respectively. The group immediate got into or in the case of Tommy, Rachel, and Irons, dived into the van before they closed the doors as Matt jammed the key into the starting port before he started the van and slammed his foot on the gas.
Thankfully, the van roared to life and sped down the trail, kicking up dirt and dust behind them. Security cars ran past them, the van going too fast for them to turn and chase them. Some attempted to chase them, but Matt managed to swerve out of the way as more of the mine security was focused on the bright mass of crystals.
"Dude, you're driving like a maniac!" Rachel screamed out in terror, grasping onto Debra who blushed, as Matt swerved down the path to the exit.
"You wanna drive?! We can stop now and switch seats!" Matt yelled back at them, "Tommy, where's security?!"
Tommy, who was in the back, turned to the back windshield, "We got two cars on us!"
"Good." Matt grinned before he slammed on the gas, speeding the van as he swerved out of the way of a security car charging at him. With another swerve, much to the detriment of the others, the van escaped the
The van soon busted through the gates of the mine, spearing through the streets as it sped away from the mines until they were far enough away for the guards not to chase them.
The others let out a collective sigh of relief before Mr. Irons declared, "This never happened."
Suddenly, a massive burst of light erupted from the mine and expanded into a wave that quickly reached the others, causing them to cover their eyes as it washed over them.
"What the hell was that?!" Matt yelled before the van was suddenly overturned by the shock of the blast. They could only scream and brace for cover as the world suddenly went black.
As they dreamed, they felt the gaze of things that they could never imagine.
One felt like it possessed an intelligent unimaginable, capable of weaving a web of schemes and plans that would stretch into eternity with a hole in its center like a black hole was where meaning should have been, its form both one and a vigintillion, resting inside a crystalline labyrinth that changed so randomly that only the strongest of willed could navigate.
The second had an aura that was like a grandfather's, warm and inviting, capable of growing forests of flora and fauna of blasphemous nature while carrying plagues and monstrous ravages that turned the wheel of nature, its form rotund and bloated with disease and flora, resting in a garden of its greatest creations and stirring a massive cauldron filled with concoctions and plagues of horrid intellect.
The third terrified many as its aura was that of something composed of flames of rage, capable of destroying civilizations with the swing of its axe and reducing even the most passive of souls into blood craving madmen, its form that of an armored visage of Satan, resting on a throne of skulls in a realm of brass and blood where its mad followers spill the blood and entrails of their foes on the red sand.
The fourth was the most alluring as it emitted a radiance that drew others in like a fool, capable of perfecting any form of art including war and bringing of even the purest of souls low with its temptations and pleasures, its form male and female yet both and perfect, resting inside a silver palace of constant pleasure and excess of every form imaginable and unimaginable with hypnotic music and the screams of lost souls.
The fifth was the one that seemed the darkest as it emitted a blackness that devoured the light, capable of drowning entire planets in everlasting darkness and anarchy with its burning desire for destruction and death, its form a massive horror of grey fur and horns, resting in a dark field devoid of life and hope where it and its black armies reigned their dark will upon the multiverse in a ceaseless tide of death.
The sixth made one feel like they was drowning in the ocean as it felt as if it was the ocean itself, capable of flooding a planet a million time over in mere hours with a blazing need for stimulation and the need for adventure, its form one of a great shark with a ravenous appetite, resting in a dark ocean that spanned entire solar systems while its followers fought and raided each other and its amphibious guardians.
The seventh was more akin to an engine of death as it burned the fires of hate and ambition, capable of forging great masteries of craftsmanship from bronze and iron molten vats with its burning hate raging like an inferno of smoke and shadows, its form a massive great blazing bull of hate and bronze, resting in a forge where its blacksmiths eternally forged weapons of war and strife in its burning and shadowy hate.
The final one was the most maddening for it was madness and insanity given form and name, capable of reducing even the strongest of wills to insanity and adding to its courts of decadence and decay where its ambassador and masked lords dance eternally, its form a bound bandaged corpse on a black spiked throne, resting in an impossible city under a yellow sky with black stars and the smell of old flowers and wine.
Their attention came to the town for a fleeting moment before a miniscule portion of their forces were sent to the bay before their eyes turned back to their great game, letting the mortals entangle themselves into their game before they became their eternal pawns.
Mark: An intellectual turned Sorcerer
Mark felt himself floating on a lake of crystal, sitting up as he tried to understand what just happened. All thoughts in Mark's head died as his eyes laid to the maze. It was sculpting with fog, describing a dream as it occurs, singing silently, painting with mist, and the like. It was impossible to think, yet there it was before his hapless sight. Shapeless yet with structure, hardened yet with fluidity, each opening closing as quickly as it came like a sea of gaping suckering mouths. It changed consistently, sometimes fluidly, other times as a mass of rocks, cracking and breaking.
Suddenly, a monster came through from the maze in a mass of tentacles and mouths before forming into the Changer of Ways.
The skin of Tzeentch crawls with constantly changing faces, leering at and mocking onlookers. As he speaks, these faces repeat his words with subtle but important differences or provide a commentary that throws doubt upon his words. These lesser faces appear and disappear quickly, but the puckered visage of Tzeentch himself remains low down in his chest, so that head and body are one. From above Tzeentch's burning eyes spring two sweeping horns, the spiraling extremities of which crackle with arcane fire. The firmament surrounding Tzeentch is heavy with magic; it weaves like liquid smoke about his head, forming subtle and interwoven patterns. Forms of places and people appear in the smoke as Tzeentch contemplates their fate. Those who appear there will inevitably find their minds, bodies or destinies mutating into strange new forms, for none can come to Tzeentch's attention and remain untouched.
Mark's eyes snapped open as he suddenly scrambled up with a scared yell only to see that he was in his bed and in his room. The blue painted walls were normal as was the shelves filled with books and D&D supplements, the desk beside the door to his bathroom that had his laptop and his pens and pencils, he was in his blue sheeted bed with a single pillow with several cases of energy drinks under it, and a nightstand that had some books, a bottle of water, and his glasses sitting on it.
"Oh..." Mark collapsed against the head of his bed, putting a hand to his head in relief, "It was just a dream... Just a dream..." It felt so real though...
Regardless, Mark got up and got dressed in a white dress shirt and brown khakis with white socks, brushing his teeth and washing his hands before he went down from breakfast. When he got downstairs however, something was wrong; his parents were the living room and in front of the TV, his mother having a horrified expression with her hands to her mouth and his father having an expression of pure disbelief on his face as he put a hand to his head.
"Um... hey, mom. Hey, dad..." Mark said in an unsure tone, getting his parent's attention, "What's wrong?"
"Someone bombed the mines." His father said in a hollow voice as he and his wife continued to stare at the TV in horror. Mark was definitely shocked at the revelation as he looked at the TV alongside his parents. The TV showed several videos from the mines, dragging out tractors and vehicles with their occupants fused with the interior, red hot rocks, and an iridescent aura of light. Several shots showed the crystals that he had uncovered being wheeled away into trucks.
"Breaking News!" A female reporter came on the news, shuffling her papers while the scenes from the mine was shown on the side, "A massive explosion in Rever Bay gold mine rocked the small fishing town last night, resulting in the deaths and injuries of several miners. Out in the mine is our very own, Max Dorsey. Max?"
"Thank you, Tamara." Max Dorsey replied as he motioned to the destroyed mine behind him, "A grisly scene hit Rever Bay's gold mine last night as a massive explosion rocked the mine, killing several workers and disfiguring and injuring several more. The source of the explosion and any signs of the explosion being manmade has yet to be identified. The mine has been cordoned off from the public as government radiation workers are being called in to investigate the mine for signs of lethal radiation. A statement regarding the statis of the mine will be released following the investigation."
Mark was left speechless like his parents. He knows that it couldn't be because of them as Irons merely took off a sample from the mass of crystals and there was no reaction. Was it a delayed reaction? Did the miners attempt to take a bigger sample and that caused a violent reaction? Mark still couldn't figure out what caused the explosion.
"Mark, when did you get contacts?" His mother's voice brought him from his thoughts as he turned his gaze to his parents.
The geek barely was able to form words from his shock, "Uh, what?"
"Son, you're not wearing your glasses." His father replied as the both of them looked surprised.
Surprised, Mark felt around his face and sure enough, he wasn't wearing his glasses. Blinking in surprise, Mark looked in the mirror and saw himself in the mirror with crystal clarity. Putting a hand to his head in surprise, Mark breathed out, "Whoa..."
Suddenly, a ping came from his phone, causing him to pull his phone out which had just gained a text message. It read "Meet me outside." and to his surprise, it was from Matt. He turned to the window and saw Matt standing outside his house's front door, looking around in worry.
Mark quickly got a coat and made an excuse that he was just going to get some fresh air as he got out of the house and crossed the street to Matt's house where the latter was standing on the porch. He noticed his nerdy friend and walked up to him, but despite the calm expression, Mark could tell he was just as shaken as he was.
"Hey, man." Matt greeted him before he got right to the point, after looking around to make sure that they weren't being eavesdropped on, "How are we still alive? I know that the van was overturned from the blast."
"I don't know." Mark admitted with a shrug, keeping his voice down so the neighbors don't hear them, "All I remember is that the blast overturned the van and then everything went black, and then suddenly I wake up in my bed."
"Same, when I asked my dad what happened last night, he said that I came home at 11:00pm." Matt replied before he then asked again, thinking that Mark at least had some answers for the elephant in the room, "Then what the hell even caused the explosion?"
"I have a few working theories;" Mark summarized, putting his hands up in surrender, "One, there was a delayed reaction to when Mr. Irons took the sample from the crystal mass. Two, the miners tried extract a sample like us and there was an explosive reaction. And the third, and worst one, we may have accidentally unleashed some kind of eldritch energy in uncovering the crystals."
Oh, joy." Matt deadpanned, thinking that the explosion would eventually be traced back to them, "So, what do we do? I've seen crime dramas; they'll find something that'll link us to the explosion!"
"Dumbass, it doesn't work like that. We don't live in a crime drama." Mark replied before he realized that the volume of their conversation grew and quickly looked around to make sure no one was listening before speaking in a hushed tone when he didn't see anyone, "And keep your voice down! People are gonna start asking questions if rumors start spreading about us being responsible for the explosion!"
Matt nodded and looked around again, before he whispered to his friend, "So, what now?"
"Tomorrow, we go to Mr. Irons and find out what he knows. For now, we keep a low profile, so nobody knows." Mark decided, before he motioned to Matt's house, "If I were you, I'd just go home and pretend like nothing happened."
Matt thankfully took his advice and ran back to his house, mock saluting him on the way inside his house. Mark thankfully raced back to his house before anyone suspected anything.
XXX
It was a day later when Mark and Matt went to Mr. Irons' apartment to see if the teacher had discovered anything about the sample. The two were dressed in black attire to not attract attention from the police or the government investigators that were going around down for witnesses if they had seen anything that would link them to the explosion at the mine. The apartment was small enough for about 30 people to live in with only 3 floors and metallic railing. They reached the 3rd floor and the tenth apartment to the left.
"Are you sure this is his place?" A nervous Matt asked his friend, who nodded in confirmation. Mark reached his hand to the door and lightly knocked near the peephole before Matt whispered, "Mr. Irons, it's me and Mark. We came to check up on you."
There was a long pause but then a series of unlocking sounds came out before the door opened to reveal the teacher. Mr. Irons looked lightly disheveled with wisps of hair sticking to his sweat dampened forehead, bags under his eyes and dilated pupils. He examines the two for a moment before he creaked the door open for them to enter with him motioning to them. The two entered the apartment and saw that it was surprisingly well kept with the exception for the canister on the counter.
A teal-green light came from the interior with white hot steam bleeding through the cracks in the top, a feeling coming from it that they both loved and hated, and was it their imagination or was it shaking?
Mr. Irons meekly said as he closed and relocked the door, "Sorry if I'm paranoid, but I can't be too sure." He then turned to the two and skipped the pleasantries, "It's unlike anything I've ever seen. I took a piece of the sample to the labs in the school while it was empty. Nearly got caught by the janitor. When I got to the lab and added acid to dissolve it, the concoction turned a bright green. But when I put it through the system, the damned thing didn't know what it was looking at! All I got were several chemical compositions, but it reported several unknown composites, and the radiation was one that it never saw!"
Mark and Matt looked at each other in worry, the former knowing that the sample was something anomalous and the latter worrying that they had stumbled onto something they shouldn't have. Mark decided to see the sample for himself as he approached while Matt bore the brunt of Mr. Irons' paranoid ramblings, but when he touched the canister, he snapped his hand back with a hiss of pain, gaining the other's attention.
"What? Is it hot?" Irons replied as he and Matt turned to him.
"No, it's... it's cold." Mark replied as he waved the pain off in his fingertips and saw that the canister now had frost all over it. Not wanting to risk it, the geek grabbed a pair of tongs and used them to pry open the canister with a spray of cold mist pouring out from the interior before he looked in shock to see that the sample had changed quite a lot since he last saw it.
It had grown to the size of a cucumber as a glow of unnatural light emerged from its inner parts, the inner metal of the canister covered in a thick layer of frost, and a vague sizzling sound came from the sides touching the crystal. Mark grasped the sample with the tongs and slowly extracted the crystal from the canister, watching as Matt and Irons' faces turned to shock and astonishment as they saw it.
"It's... it's grown so big..." Irons stated the obvious as he saw the crystal, grasping the tongs that were holding it as Mark relinquished it to the teacher who examined it with obvious interest, "It seems it can alter its own physical properties on a whim."
"Is that even possible?" Mark asked as he stared in awe.
"I don't know." Irons replied as he stared at it in scientific confusion, "Look, you two get home. I'll discuss this with you two on Wednesday."
The two nodded before they suddenly doubletake and asked, "Wednesday?"
"School's been cancelled due to the explosion. Principle's worried for the fallout." Irons explained as he lowered the crystal into a metal case that happened to be at his feet, "It will be till Wednesday when they have confirmation that it's safe to come back. Again, you two go home while I figure out what to do."
Mark and Matt nod before they slowly made their way out of the apartment, worried that something might happen in the days to come.
XXX
This Monday morning was strange as Mark has one of the strangest dreams in his life. The geek dreamt of a labyrinth of crystal that gleamed with iridescent light and seemed to change with every blink of an eye, corridors forming and unforming at random measurements of time, feeling the presences of things that he could not describe, forms that were impossible to shape with flesh and crystal, and a gate with an impossible riddle.
He was certainly shaken up, but he dismissed it as him reading too many H.P Lovecraft novels, but Mark wondered if something was different about him as he was finishing his homework; it seemed like the work he was given was as easy as pie, everything from calculus and why the sky was blue was finished in just under half an hour. Sure, was quite intelligent for his age, but he wasn't that smart.
Mark shook it off even as he put his finished homework aside and started absentmindedly scribbling into his notebook, thinking about what could be happening now that the mine has been cordoned off from the public after the radiation had been declared too lethal for the public to be near, and with that the government eventually decided to slowly get any and all irradiated material out of the table. His parents have been worried beyond words about what this could mean for their small town, but Mark didn't even give it a thought.
When he leaves this shitty town, he'll live his dreams and achieve all his ambitions.
Suddenly, the geeky teenager noticed that his scribblings had become a series of formulas, though that appeared more like rituals than formulas. Ones the likes of which he had never seen, ones that only he seemed to understand, like something had taken hold of his subconscious and compelled him to write this. Curiousness overtaking him and thinking about what he could do with theses, Mark took his notebook and crept downstairs before he realized that he was alone as his parents were at work despite school being cancelled.
Opening the cabinet doors, Mark took as many chemicals and cleaning materials as he could before he exited the kitchen and went to the patio with a large pot that he placed next to the glass table. Sitting with his legs crossed, Mark then opened his notebook and began to meticulously begin the construction of whatever concoction would be created by this formula.
First, came some bleach and Tye pods. Second were some anti-rusting powders, a dash of shaving cream, and some dish soup. And third, was hydrogen peroxide, some distilled acid, and several empty bottles of plastic. After that, Mark rose to his feet and looked around his neighbors' backyards in case that any of them were gonna peak on his little activity. When he saw that nobody was in their backyards, Mark returned to his pot and went cross-legged before he began to slowly mutter strange unholy words that became almost familiar to him, invoking the power of something not of this earth.
The concoction in the pot slowly began to churn and boil, congealing and shaping into a bubbling mass of black-purple liquid as wisps of smoke rose from whatever this mixture had turned into, flashes of light appeared at random intervals before lightning began to spike through its invisible veins. The geeky boy looked to the boiling black mixture in surprise before a voice, calm and soothing, told him to reach his hand into the mixture for an item that would aim him. Not knowing what else to do, a slightly hesitant Mark reached his hand into the mixture, wafting his hand around before his fingers brushed on something. He grasped onto it and then slightly pulled it out, the item shocking him immensely.
it was a bound tome, likely a grimoire with a cover that seemed to be made of a flexible silver for lack of a better word with it having a strange azure symbol that resembled a circle in the middle of a wavey crescent. A note then immerged from the black soupy mixture that read; "Call it a gift from someone that sees more in you than you think. Be sure to dispose of the mixture before your parents get home. Love -T."
Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Mark opened the grimoire and was amazed at what he saw; knowledge and spells from... somewhere, like a creature from beyond had gifted it to him. Remembering that his parents would be back soon, Mark quickly dug a hole near the fence with a spade before he took the pot and poured the concoction into the hole, using a spoon from the kitchen to get every ounce out.
When he got most of it out, Mark quickly covered the hole up with the same spade and then quickly entered his house before beginning to wash the pot of any of the mixture left. When the geek was finished, the pot was placed in the dish washer with the rest of the dishes before he went back upstairs to his room. Gently placing the tome under his bed and hidden from the sheets, Mark then grabbed one of his D&D books and headed downstairs.
Just then his parents came back, finding Mark sitting on the couch in one of his Dungeons and Dragons books, his legs crossed and his expression lazy.
"Done with your homework, Mark?
Hiding the smug smirk, he just replied to his father in a casual tone, "It was a piece of cake."
XXX
Wednesday came sooner than Mark expected, but he seemed to be readier than he expected as well. The moment he entered the school, the confidence he irradiated was obvious as he caught the attention of the other students in the halls. He was dressed in a white tieless dress shirt under a black dress jacket, a pair of brown khakis, and black slip-on shoes.
Matt came beside him, dressed in a red shirt under a leather jacket, black pants, and black sneaker, while wearing red headphones that were playing Slayer and having an equally confident grin on his face, swaggering in the halls as he and Mark high-fived without even looking at each other. Their confidence seemed to be infectious, as they all started to gain the stares of the other students in the school.
Once they entered their classroom, they immediately gained the stares of the other students, but it was then that Mark and Matt noticed some of them had changed, slightly but noticeably when focused on. Some seemed to be more unkept, while others seemed tightly kept, some seeming more dirtier, and some seeming more clean than last they saw them. Mark and Matt looked at each other but shrugged it off before they got to their seats.
"Jeez, Bob, you look horrible." Debra noted as she pointedly noted to the disheveled boy. She wasn't exactly wrong; Bob seemed thinner, his skin was lightly mottled and dirtier, his hair was dry as straw with little grease in the follicles, while his clothes, identical as his ones on Friday, seemed dirtier with some scarfs wrapped around his neck and sleeves. His attire should have drawn attention, but the others didn't even bat an eye.
"Well, you're no prize either." Bob's retort wasn't wrong either; Debra's hair was now cut into bob that reached her jaws, her makeup was the same but darker for lack of a better term, she wore a black and white striped shirt under a black jacket, and white pants with knee-high boots that had metal studs. It wasn't that she was gaudy, but she seemed to be diving into an obsession of sorts.
"Says everyone else." Tommy replied dryly; he was noticeably more muscled, his hair slightly greyer as it reached his jawline, his skin seemingly becoming more shark-like as it was grey and rubbery, his nails lightly blackened, and his teeth sharper and shark-like. He was wearing a grey long sleeve shirt with a shark design under a white hoodie, white khakis, and black tennis shoes.
It was a few minutes when the students began to notice that their teacher was nowhere to be seen. Some of the students went out to the halls to see if Mr. Irons was coming their way, but there was no sign of the teacher anywhere. Matt voiced out, "Geez, where's Mr. Irons? Class started ten minutes ago."
"Wait, didn't they tell you?" Bob asked them, the others shaking their heads as they looked at him in confusion, "Mr. Irons got arrested."
That was certainly a shock to the others, as they looked at each other while Mark voiced their thoughts, "He got arrested?!"
"Yeah." Bob confirmed with a nod, "Apparently, he assaulted another teacher, so he got arrested. Then police raided his apartment and saw that he had a piece of the irradiated crystals. So, suffice to say, he's on trial for possible conspiracy."
"Damn..." Mark breathed out as he ran a hand through his hair, before he noticed that somebody else was missing, "Hey, has anybody seen Rachel?"
"Nobody's seen her for days." Bob replied before he then tells them before they noticed that another one of their classmates was missing, "By the way, Ian is in the hospital."
Mark certainly looked surprised at the state of those two but asked, "Why's Ian in the hospital?"
"Overdose." The haggard looking teenager replied, surprising the others. Ian never took drugs, so what did he overdose on?
Just as that conversation finished, the substitute entered the room with the students sitting down just as she set her papers down on the desk. She appeared to be in her late twenties, red-dyed hair tied back into a ponytail, a dress shirt that was had the top two buttons undone, a black knee-length pencil skirt with black leggings and black heels.
"Good morning, class. I'm Ms. Morris, and today, we will be learning about how lightning is formed." She informed the class as she opened her booklet and smiled at the class, one was charismatic but that seemed like it was hiding something. It was then that Mark noticed she had purple eyes.
What he did know; things are about to get interesting.
XXX
Mark hummed as he worked in the chemistry lab while it was empty, mixing several concoctions together as part of something to be made into a small package for some of the other asshole teachers in this shitty school. It was a Sunday and school was empty, but one of the teachers had managed to convince some of the students to congregate here for a ritual. He snapped himself out of his thoughts on what things he would pull on the school while he was here before he lost focus, this formula's synthesis is highly delicate.
Just as he put the beaker filled with a yellow compound down from the Bunsen burner with some grabbers, Mark pulled out a pack filled with powder made from the crystals, ripping it open with his teeth and pouring it into the compound, watching it slowly turn it from yellow to green but a moment. It started to bubble, and smoke began to pour from over the edges of the beaker as Mark started stirring it with a glass stirring stick until it began to emit white flashes of light.
"Okay," Mark said to himself as he took the beaker into his rubber glove covered hands, the smoke flailing against his safety googles as the dim light of the lab's ceiling reflected off them ominously, "If I'm right, and I usually am, this should be able to be used as a binding agent for the other world." He poured the compound into a canister, closing it as the last drop of the concoction left the beaker.
He took off the gloves and safety goggles, taking the canister and leaving the empty lab before strutting down the empty halls of the school, walking past empty classrooms and emptier offices for the teachers, whistling a tune that he made up on the fly while looking around the halls lackadaisically. After a few minutes of walking, Mark came to the door leading to the school basement.
Doing the specific knock that he told the others that he would do when he was finished, Mark waited for only half a minute before the door opened to reveal two other students: a guy from the football team and a girl from the cheerleading squad. They beckoned him in, closing the doors behind him as they led him to the basement floor.
Gathered around the basement were at least 50 students from the school, all of them either freshmen, sophomore, junior, or senior, all from various groups; cheerleaders, football players, nerds, geeks, loners, cool kids, and popular girls. In the center of the room was the gym teacher, Mr. Bitters, a middle aged and rotund man, nude and bound in the middle of a ritual circle drawn in white chalk. Daemonic runes and marking were carved into his skin as he squealed and wrestled against his restraints.
The one leading this ritual wasn't Mark himself unfortunately, but it was the substitute teacher, Ms. Morris. She was slightly different than three days ago; her purple eyes were now glowing, her hair loose and her bangs framing her face, the red color was gone from her hair and jet black replaced it, her outfit was the same but with more buttons from her dress shirt was undone.
"Well, speak of the devil." Mr. Morris spoke up, getting the attention of the others as they saw Mark walking down the stairs, "Mark, we were just talking about you. Is the elixir ready?"
"Ready as it'll ever be." Mark replied as he showed them the canister that had the elixir.
It was at that point that the gym teacher tried to get his nerve back as he shouted, "W-What are you gonna do to me?! I... I promise, when I get out of these restraints, I'll have all of you sent to prison."
"Yes, yes, we'll be sent to prison." Ms. Morris apathetically replied before she politely asked one of the students in the basement, "Can one of you shut him up and hold him still please?"
One of the students promptly slugged Mr. Bitters across the face, causing him to cry in pain before another student promptly inserted a gag ball into his mouth and then followed up by wrapping his mouth with a leather gag. Once he was gagged, several other students proceeded to hold Mr. Hitters down, exposing his neck as Mark opened the canister and drew out a syringe, extracting a small portion of the elixir.
Mr. Hitters saw the needle and started to scream into his gag, thrashing against his binds as the needle reached his jugular. The needle pierced his jugular as Mark deployed the plunger, dispensing the elixir into his system. They removed the gag, but instead of scream, all that came from the gym teacher's mouth was a soft whining sound as he gained a dazed and drugged expression.
"I cannot believe you talked us into this." Mark voiced his thoughts to Ms. Morris, who didn't respond and had a blank expression, before he sighed and confirmed to her, "Regardless, it's in his system. You can go ahead."
Ms. Morris nodded and motioned for the others to move out of the way. Thankfully, none of them had smudged or smeared the circle, the drugged form of Mr. Hitters inside the ritual circle as the woman stepped in front of it. She pulled a parchment from her shirt and unfolded it, revealing daemonic scripture and pictures of inhuman monstrosities before she raised a hand to the ritual circle and began to speak a language that seemed both impossible and otherworldly, sending a chill down Mark's spine and the spines of others.
Suddenly, the outside of the basement didn't seem to exist to them, like the room had been ripped from reality and thrown into the void even though they knew it wasn't true. An unseen thing from the other realm weaved through each of the students before coming to the bound body of Mr. Bitters, taking the shape of a shadow that was vaguely humanoid with eyes of pearl and starlight. The form of the shadow devolved into a mass of thin flailing tendrils that slithered into every orifice of the sacrifice, the runes burning brightly like unfurling stars as the body was raised into the air, the eyes and mouth of the body emitting searing purple light.
The sacrifice's flesh rippled and remade, bones fracturing and reassembling into something to the thing's liking, unholy sounds echoing from both the throat of the body and from the being overriding Mr. Bitters' soul. His body fat liquifying and vaporizing as it exited his mouth and nose, his skin blackening and withering to his bones, purple fire spewed from cracks in his skin, his lips and eyelids peeling away to reveal white shining fangs and blank soulless eyes, and wisps of blackness bleeding from the cracks in his skin.
Before it could attempt anything, ethereal chains rose from the ritual circle and bound the possessed, restraining it to the circle as it thrashed and flailed against them, emitting howling roars of rage that echoed through the spaces between reality and unreality. Ms. Morris and the others were shocked as the former breathed and turned to Mark who had the smuggest smirk they'd ever seen, "You actually did it."
"And you all doubted me." Mark smugly replied, before reaching an open hand out to her, "And you're end of the deal?"
Ms. Morris scoffed and reached into her, pulling out another parchment before handing it to Mark, who took it and promptly stuck it in the inner pocket of his dress jacket. With that done, Mark looked back and pointed at the possessed and mangled body of Mr. Bitters and asked, "So, who's the lucky guy?"
"Enok the Desecrator." Morris replied, watching as the daemon attempted to break its restraints, "One of the vigintillions of unaligned daemons. The Book of Lorgar says that he can gift others power beyond dreaming."
"I see. Well, all of you have fun." Eyre watched before he decided to take his leave, walking up the stairs and reaching the doors to the basement. Before he left, Mark turned to see that the daemon had turned his sight to him. With a smirk, Mark raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, the ethereal chains that bound the possessed body were broken.
Quickly exiting before things got bloody, Mark slammed the doors shut as screams, shouts, roars, chanting, and blasts of energy rung out from the basement before he quickly chained the doors shut.
"Oh, that was too easy." Mark laughed as he used this opportunity to walk off while rolling the key through each of his fingers.
XXX
Mark flinched when a shot of pain flared up from his arm as he carved the symbols into his skin with a hot needle, enough to break the skin and draw blood but not too deep for the heat from the needle to cauterize it and leave enough scaring for the symbols to stay. His arm exposed as he wore a black wifebeater and a pair of shorts. Looking back to the parchment he got from Ms. Morris on his desk to make sure that he was getting the symbol right, Mark relit the lighter to heat up the needle again for more carving.
The process was only possible due to the closing down of the school after his stunt with the summoning ritual. Apparently, Ms. Morris survived but was suspect number one due to the fact that she was the sole survivor of the massacre and that she happened to have drugs that were conveniently placed in her car. And that the cameras happened to be disable and that there were no fingerprints...
"God, I love being me." Mark muses before he snaps out of it and resumes carving the symbols into his arm. Another symbol was engraved into his arm, flashing briefly before he went to work on the last two symbols that he was meant to engrave. "Glad I'm doing this with my non-writing arm." He muttered. If anything went wrong, he would simply amputate the arm and use magic to regrow it and try again.
The geek finished the final symbol in just ten minutes later, shaking the pain off his arm before he stared at his work in satisfaction. Now time for the test run. With a deep breath, Mark exhaled as snapped his fingers. Suddenly, an orb of blue fire appeared above his hands, shimmering and shifting as azure flames danced around in a beautiful pattern. It disappeared almost a minute after it appeared from the Warp.
Mark breathed in amazement before he thought of the possibilities now that he had actual magical powers. It was like a dream come true! But as the high from that faded, Mark began to realize that something... wasn't right with the town.
It started snowing earlier yesterday, which was strange because it was the beginning of November and that they had predicted that it would be sunny and free of clouds. Secondly, he noticed that the streets seemed emptier, the docks and the harbor seemed to have weird amphibious shapes seemed to surface and submerge whenever he looked at it, and it seemed like... something was happening underground as smells of aromas, sweat, blood, drugs, potent sounds of screaming and laughter echoing from manholes and sewer lines.
Mark shook it off and decided to test his powers downstairs, grabbing the bound tome and a D&D book along the way as to get an idea on how to use them. When he made to the living room though, the geeky boy saw two men dressed in concealing all black attire armed with crowbars open the back doors to his house. He hid in the staircase as they entered the kitchen, talking to each other while sifting through the contents of the cabinets and fridge.
Scared, Mark opened the D&D book and sifted through it until it came to the page where it read "Dominate." Reading on how it works, Mark then peaked from behind the walls of the staircase, readying his hand with the symbols glowing before he yelled, "DOMINATE!"
His shout didn't even resister to the crooks as a wave of magic speared into their brains and caused them to go slack. Mark went silent, wondering what just happened as he came from the staircase and entered the kitchen. The robbers were still as statues with the bags filled with the stolen items still in the grips of their gloved hands, facing the cabinets and the walls. Mark decided to test this by snapping his fingers.
As if on command, the robbers turned to face the kid, who blinked in surprised.
"Sit."
They sat down on the floor like obedient puppets.
"Speak."
"Hello." They both spoke in unison and monotone.
Mark blinked before a smirk came across his face. Ideas began forming instantly and none of them altruistic. He uttered out, "Go outside and kill yourselves." The two robbers obeyed and placed the stolen items back on the counter, before they walked out of the house to the backyard and then raised their crowbars up. The teenager winced and turned away as they started bashing themselves with their crowbars, thinking that maybe he should have specified how.
Regardless, he was gonna do so many terrible things with these powers.
XXX
It was three weeks later since his use of Dominate and Mark was slowly experimenting with his powers to slowly get what he wants; mostly more knowledge and power. As he did though, an infestation was coming through Rever Bay as several people were arrested and taken to... somewhere. The other people in Rever Bay seemed to become more... unstable for lack of a better word, horrible things roaming the sewers and feeding on those that entered there to escape from above.
Cults began forming in secret while they went about day like nothing ever happened, but at night, most would sneak out and gather in the forests before they began orgiastic rituals, blood sacrifices, worship of disease, daemonic summoning, and all sorts of occult things in worship to the great gods beyond the veil. Mark happened to be part of one of these cults and happened to be their leader.
"Move! Move!" Mark yelled out to the others as he came to the ritual site, holding his personal spell book that he created through combining the texts from the tome and his D&D books into a combination of spells and creation rituals, one of which he was about to perform.
Huddled in the ritual circle was his greatest creation: a menagerie of human and inhuman body parts sewn together and made into a form that barely resembled a man and was remade into a creature of indescribable frenzied madness. The other cultists looked upon it with barely hid dread and contempt but said nothing less they invoke their master's wrath.
Unperturbed, the leader of this cult of madness opened the book to a specific page and began to recite a certain ritual. Demented and discordant alien words issued from his lips, screaming echoes rippling through the hair thin veil of reality, the terrible will of the speaker forcing the vast mindless masses of energy to shape themselves to his wants.
The multiple eyes and mouths began emitting ethereal light from the twisted plains of the Warp, muscles seizing and joints curling, twisted energy from beyond their reality flowing into its vacant body in a facsimile of a soul. Reality around them shuddered before a beam of fire erupted from the candles around them and coiled around the body, forcing it to stand on the masses that it called legs.
"LIFE! LIFE, DO YOU HEAR ME?! GIVE MY CREATION LIIIFE!" Mark roared into the heavens and the Changer of Ways in his Crystal Labyrinth. The light faded as it receded into the body, reality stabilizing as everything seemed to return to normal.
The body didn't move, it didn't breathe, twitch or blink. No popping of joints or beating of a heart, no nostrils expanding to intake air, nothing.
Suddenly, there was a twitch. Mark didn't hold his breath, thinking that it could be a cadaveric spasm. A compression in the chest came, then the sound of breath as a joint popped before more fingers curled into a fist. Eyes suddenly gained life as they started darting around their sockets, the sounds of multiple hearts beating against the ribs of the chest, lungs expanding and contracting for breath, bones creaking as its first thoughts came into being.
A moan issued from its throat as Mark slowly placed his hands on its shoulders, feeling the blood pumping through its veins and the hot musky breath issuing from its throat, muscles straining and pulling as it tested its new limbs. The horrid thing that it called a face turned to Mark, who stared at it in awe and amazement at his experiment being a success.
"It's alive..." Mark breathed, giddiness flooding his tone before he repeated in a quote that he's been waiting to say his hold life, "It's alive! It's alive!" He then raised his arms to the sky and roared out, "IT'S ALIVE!"
It roared alongside its creator, raising its arms to the sky in tandem with its creator. The cultists around him all stared in awe at their leader's creation, fearing its power. Thankfully, his creation seemed to be passive, at least for now. Making sure that it stayed that way, Mark burned pacifying incense while leading it back to his house, which was thankfully nearby.
However, Tzeentch decided to turn this to tragedy.
Just as Mark led the creature to the house, intending to hide it in his basement before he created more for his army, his parents happened to be in the living room, just as he appeared in the backyard. Suffice to say, the two immediately came out when they saw their son with a Frankensteinian monster in tow, catching Mark by surprise.
"Oh, hey mom! Hey, dad!" Mark gave a nervous smile, holding his hands up as the creature stirred, as if sensing the tension.
"Mark..." His mother put her hands to her mouth in horror at the sight of the creature, "What the hell is that thing?!"
"Mom, this is... my school project." Mark nervously motioned to the creature, who still hadn't reacted to the discussion, "It's obviously a work in progress."
"A WORK IN PROGRESS?!" His mother shouted when she heard that, causing the creature to stir again and to grind its teeth.
"SHH! Keep your voices down!" Mark harshly whispered darting his head back and forth between the creature and his mother, "You'll aggravate it!"
They seemed to at least get the hint and kept their voices low as to not aggravate the creature, his father asking, "What the hell did you make, Mark?"
"Look, I got curious and some... friends helped me with- I can't really explain it! Look, can we hide it in the basement for a few days?" Mark tried to reason with his parents, who reacted understandably.
"No, we are not having that... thing in our house!" His mother screamed out, forgetting what her son said about keeping her voice down.
"Mom, keep-" Mark's harsh whisper was cut off when the creature reacted violently, breaking its chains and letting out a skyward roar before it turned its dreaded gaze towards him and his parents.
"Oh, shit!" Mark yelped as he rolled out of the way of the creature when it roared out and swung its arms. Though it missed him, the same could not be said for his parents.
Only one strike was all it took for their heads to be severed from their neck, blood spraying from their stumps before they fell to the ground. Mark stared in wide eyed horror before the creature roared and used its numerous limbs to bludgeon the bodies of his parents into mulch, as the blooming sorcerer grabbed the heads and ran into the house, hastily placing them onto the glass table.
Quickly running back to the backyard, Mark used his burgeoning powers, azure flames forming from his hands that then became glowing blue chains that bound the creature to the ground. It roared and flailed against its chains as Mark used his powers to lift it into the air, carrying it to the shed where he uncouthly threw it in and slammed the door shut, before blessing the shed with indestructability so that it couldn't escape.
With that out of the way, Mark, still in shock, merely just sat down on the couch, the table with the severed heads of his parents sitting on infront of him, as he stared off into the night sky.
XXX
The sorcerer kept hidden in the shadow as predators and madmen came rampaging through the streets, the dark clouds covering the city to where flames and screams illuminated the skies, wisps of ethereal energy lashing at everything, shadows and teeth erupting from the dark rifts formed from their thoughts, and distorted blackened souls of the dead writhing and waiting for the next to fall.
It was the middle of December, but Chaos has reigned over Rever Bay like a plague. Various Chaos Cults warring against each other for territory and resources, possessed husks rampaging through the streets, creatures that were little more than mewling masses of flesh and mouths. A mountain of bodies was gathered around the center of the town in a monument to the madness that consumed the town.
The government had cordoned off Rever Bay from the rest of the state, erecting walls to keep the rest of the madmen out of the US. Soldiers were stationed on the top, armed with armor piercing rounds to gun down any and all of those monsters that looked at them sideways
In the chaos, Mark sped through the streets on a chariot of twin Blue Horrors of Tzeentch, throwing spells at whatever he saw with extreme prejudice; several thousands of Doombolts and Flames of Tzeentch flying all around, hitting living and non-living things in a blind fury to escape the town before he gets killed. However, when he managed to reach an empty street, a feral roar made from the throat of a twisted creature of human origin.
Mark, now garbed in azure tattered robes with several scarfs lined with daemonic scripture, turned It was a man dressed in an outfit that resembled red leather armor polymerized with a trench coat, parts of it covered in bronze plates and spikes, the head covered in a bronze mask/helm with backwards facing spikes sitting on the head and forehead, and twin eyeholes revealing the wearers' burning red eyes. The eyes nearly made Mark lose his breath. The eyes... there was no emotion other than pure, feral rage burning inside them like a volcano erupting to signal the world's end.
It was then that Mark recognized the eyes, the realization striking him like a bullet to his stomach, "Matt?"
The monster that Matt had become roared before leaping at him.
Matt: A bully turned Berserker
The taste of blood licked through his tongue as Matt slowly retched himself from the ground, feeling hot bloodstained sand on his hands as he forced himself to stand despite feeling the bones in his legs crack. His eyes open after wiping the blood off his face, as he was beholden the sight of the Realm of Brass and Blood.
A broad and muscular humanoid who stands hundreds of Terran feet tall. He has the face of a savage, snarling dog, though his twisted features are all but hidden by a baroque helm decorated with the skulls of conqueror kings. Khorne's exaggerated physique is further distorted by heavy, overlapping plates of armour fashioned from brass and blackened iron. His every word is a growl of endless fury, and his roars of bloodlust echo across his realm.
Khorne broods from a throne of carved brass, atop a mountain of skulls. The macabre trophies are the fleshless heads of his champions, stacked alongside those of their defeated opponents. A hundred thousand species are represented, from Human heads beyond counting to Tyranid skulls the size of hive city hab-blocks. The ever-growing pile of bloodstained bone reflects the material victories of his followers, feeding Khorne's glory but never quenching his thirst for blood and death.
At Khorne's side rests a great two-handed sword, a legendary blade capable of laying waste to the substance of worlds with a single blow. This fell weapon is known by various names to the different intelligent species of the galaxy, including Woebringer, Warmaker, and the End of All Things.
Matt could only scream at the sight of the Blood God.
Matt's eyes shot open before hyperventilating breath issued out from his throat, turned his gaze around his room as his eyes dart around frantically. He was in his room, and he survived the crash from the rid to the mine. Seeing that he was alive, Matt exhaled in relief before getting up from bed, seeing that he was dressed in a grey long-sleeve shirt and a pair of black nylon warmup pants with socks on his feet.
Slowing his panting down, Matt turned down and saw that his chest was soaked in sweat, seeping through his shirt as he wiped his head from all the perspiration that was coming from his pores. The bully turned to a sitting up position and got to his feet, wondering what the hell was going on. The teenaged dockworker decided to shake it off and head to the kitchen to get breakfast.
And since his father never made him breakfast, he had to do it himself.
Walking into the kitchen, Matt opened the fridge, pulled out a jug of milk and set it aside as he then opened the cabinet and pulled out some espresso powder. He then opened up the coffee maker, put a filter down, poured some espresso powder in the filter, and then poured water into the machine. He then just had to place the jug under the dispenser and watch it fill up, before he heard someone coming from down the hall and into the kitchen.
It was his father, adorned in a wifebeater with several beer stains under an open bathrobe that revealed his unattractive physic, his bottom half mercifully covered by a pair of boxers
"Morning, Dad." Matt said as he poured a glass of coffee for him and his father, who took the mug and gave a sip.
"Thanks, son." His father said before he took another drink, pausing and then opening the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of vodka and pouring it into his coffee for some extra kick, "Just got a call in from Jim. Larry couldn't make it, something about his friend being in the hospital. We gotta go in and open up the docks. Get ready to leave in about half an hour."
"Joy." Matt sarcastically replied before he remembered how he ended up despite the crash should have killed or injured him, "Hey, Dad? What happen last night? It all just kind of went blank."
His dad gave him a look but humored him, "You came back on 11:00PM, looking like you had just been on some kind of adrenaline bender. The explosion in the mine went off just an hour earlier, and your mother was getting worried. When she saw you enter the front door, she nearly tackled you in a hug."
"Huh." Matt was surprised to say the least, his mother wasn't the most emotional of people around. Deciding he needed to talk to someone who knew too, Matt pulled out his phone and texted Mark.
XXX
It was another long day at work for Matt and his father, coming home at 9:00pm to his mother laying on the couch again, a cigarette in her mouth as she turned her gaze to her husband and son. Matt was carrying some grocery bags filled with bottles and cans of alcohol, cans of soups, vegetables, frozen pizzas, and other things, setting them down on the table and pulling out some bottles for his father.
His mother happened to see then and lazily asked her husband, "Get me one of those."
"Get off your lazy fucking ass and get it yourself!" Matt's father yelled, causing his son to sigh and roll his eyes. Here they go again.
"Goddamnit!" His mother screamed back, getting up and having an angry expression, "I gave birth to Matt and let you live with my parents when yours kicked you out of their house! So, quit being an asshole and get me some goddamn beer!"
His father growled as he yelled out while placing his bottles on the table, "Me and Matt have worked our asses raw at those fucking docks all day so that way you would have a roof over your head and a fucking bed to sleep in!"
"Oh, yeah! I'm having a fucking ball here!" His mother yelled sarcastically, before scowling hard at him, "I wish either you or Matt would join the military."
"Oh, you know what-" It was at that point that Matt just tuned it out and started microwaving some Hot Pockets, thinking about how the explosion affected the others at the docks and their families.
One worker named Randy told him that his wife was near hysterical as her brother was one of the miners that had been injured in the blast, to the point where he actually told Matt that he wasn't sure that he could comfort her. Another worker named Miles told him that his friends had to vacate their house because of the radiation from the blast. Yet another worker complained that he was sure that the town was gonna be a cesspool of government agents for the search for whatever caused that blast for experiments for the country.
Was the explosion their fault or not? Matt didn't know and that frustrated him. His parent's constant arguing only worsened his mood.
An hour later, when night fell and the air was moist and at a moderate temperature, Matt went out to get the arguing out of his head, thinking that maybe he just needed to get the anger out of his system. But each time he tried to block it out, it would force itself into his thoughts. And the harder he tried to bury it, the harder it came back. It kept coming back and echoing louder and louder, until it grew to unbearable heights.
His teeth grinded against each other so hard that they threatened to crack, his heart beating harder than a horse's and slamming against his ribs, hyperventilating so hard that his lungs started to wrestle as much air out of his brief breaths took in, his bones spewing out as much blood as could be forged in its marrows, all his anger boiling to where he couldn't contain it.
Matt let out nothing less than a roar of pure rage and struck the closest thing near him as lightning flashed and thunder clapped. His fist connected to something that splintered against the force of his punch, nearly splitting the object in twain as wind rushed past like a tornado. Rain began to fall as Matt came to his senses and saw that he just struck a tree.
Instead of his fist shattering upon impact, it was now stuck in the tree itself. Matt, his face blank with shock, wretched his hand out from the tree before it began to split in twain and fall down onto the street with all the grace of a drunkard falling unconscious from his bender of alcohol. Still in shock, Matt looked down at his fist, which possessed no slinters piercing his skin and no broken bones, the latter proven by him opening and closing his hand experimentally.
All that could be issued from his throat was an awed "Whoa." It was then that the rest of his senses caught up to him when he saw that some of the lights around the neighborhood houses started to turn on, likely from the sound of his roar and the tree falling down.
"Oh, shit!" Matt whispered to himself as he then dashed towards his house, running up the path, kicking the door open and slamming it closed behind him before anyone saw him near the fallen tree. Now, in his living room that was void of his parents, Matt trudged to the only armchair that they had and slowly sat down, nearly falling unconscious from the sudden wave of exhaustion that hit him.
XXX
"When are we gonna talk to Mr. Irons?"
"How about 7:00PM? That why it'll be dark enough for just to just walk up to his apartment and nobody will see us."
"Cool. See ya then."
At the highschool football field, Matt shut off his phone and leaned back against the bleachers he was sitting on. Though school was cancelled, the football, soccer, cheerleading, and track teams still had practice. The only reason that the town wasn't evacuated was due to the fact that the explosion was pretty contained and that the mine was about 20 miles from the town, and apparently those radiation scientists worked pretty fucking quickly because that was announced this morning.
Regardless, Matt came here because he had the day off and didn't want to stay at home watching his parent argue all day. Plus, it came with the benefit off seeing several people he didn't like getting mouthed off by Coach Bitters, mostly when they fuck up their practice and when Bitters hates their attitude. Other kids sat at the bleachers as well, either here to hang out, do drugs, or just do what he's doing.
However, Matt's luck was not with him today as one chuckle at seeing one mistake from the team was loud enough to get Coach Bitters' attention. He turned his attention to the bully and then yelled out, "SOMETHING FUNNY, KONOVER?! IF YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, THEN COME DOWN AND DO IT YOURSELF!"
Deciding what the hell, Matt decided to humor the coach before he was gonna have one of his temper tandems. The bully removed his hoodie and jacket, hanging them on the railing of the bleachers before he walked to the track while pointedly ignoring the other kids on the bleachers laughing at him. The football and soccer teams were laughing too, but the track team merely shrugged while the cheerleaders scowled at him.
"You're fucking disgusting, you know?" One of the cheerleaders said as Matt passed them, causing him to pause and turn to them in confusion.
"The hell did I do?"
"I heard that you slugged Mark Eyre across the face." The cheerleader continued with a scowl directed at him, "And, contrary to what most people think, bullying nerds isn't exactly a turn on."
"Oh, get fucked. But you probably won't with that attitude." Matt replied as he flipped them the bird and got into position along with the rest of the track team, ignoring the indignant squawks of the cheerleader and the laughter of the bleacher kids. After calming them down, the coach blew his whistle after the typical 'READY? SET! GO!" and all of them immediately broke out in a sprint.
Matt didn't even try as he sprinted regardless of whatever place he might come in, on instinct and without thought. When Matt crossed the finish line, his senses came back to him, noticing that no one else was at the finish line with him. He looked around and noticed the shocked looks on everybody's faces; from the coach to the teams, to even the kids on the bleachers. He then noticed that the track team had stopped and had slackened jaws. Without even trying, he outran the entire track team.
Matt looked at his legs in astonishment while he vague heard one of the jocks drop his water bottle in shock. He didn't feel anything, or any loss of stamina from the mad dash on the track and hell, he barely felt his heartrate change from the dash.
"Dude... Where did you learn to run like that?!" One of the soccer players yelled out, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Umm..." Matt tried to come up with a response but just settled for a shrug, "I guess running around the docks paid off."
The others all looked at each other disbelief. After that, Matt just settled back down on the bleachers, and opened the bag of lunch he made before he left the house for the field. It was quiet after that, he ate his lunch in silence, listening to Three Days Grace on his phone before he noticed that it was nearing 3:00pm. Meaning that it was time for him to get home before his father came there to drag him back.
Before he could go though, the coach stopped him, having a genuinely concerned expression on his face, "Hey, Konover, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Uh, sure." He said in confusion.
"Konover, when you were running, you had this look like you wanted to rip someone's head off." The coach replied as he genuinely seemed like he was concerned for Matt's wellbeing, "Is everything alright? Is there anything I can do to help?"
Matt looked down but sighed and decided to just say it, "I... I don't know, coach. I just sort of channeled all my frustration into that moment. Look, if something's bothering me, I'll come talk to you, all right?"
The coach nodded, satisfied but still concerned, watching as Matt slung his backpack over his shoulders before walking off to get home.
XXX
It was Monday, one that thankfully wasn't as bad as other Mondays. Matt now took out his aggression other things, mostly in the forest as he punched and kicked trees to let out all the frustration that built up inside him, but soon it wasn't enough. That was when he heard that the other outcasts like him decided to use this opportunity to do something that they always wanted to do; start a fight club.
And after hearing that Mr. Irons got arrested, Matt decided what the hell since the docks were closed after he heard that Tommy jumped off the edge into the water in an apparent suicide attempt.
After sneaking out of his house when his parents went to bed, Matt entered a shady bar around closing time where several other men and teenagers sat and waited, talking, eating, or drinking. He merely walked to the bar and sat down, staring at the collection of vodkas and tequilas sitting on the other side when suddenly the female bartender came.
"What can I get for ya?" She asked him rudely as cigarette smelling breath violated his nostrils, but he pushed down the urge to punch her in the face.
"Rum and Coke." Matt said as he pulled out a fake ID for her to see. It was days like this that he was glad to have a tech geek like Mark as a friend. Either the bartender bought it or didn't care as she sighed and went off to make his drink. It was only ten minutes later and after he finished his drink that the owner went up and rung the bell.
"Closing time! One last call for alcohol, so finish your whisky and beer and get out of here!" The owner called out as he rang the bell for the others to finish their meals and drinks before he forced them out. After only five minutes, the bar was now 25% empty after the patrons finished their drinks and meals.
When they left, the owner locked the entrance before he turned to the remaining 58 men and women still in the bar, silently motioning for them to follow him. The group followed him through the bar and to the backroom, arriving at a metal door near the entrance to the now silent but unempty kitchen that the owner opened, revealing a set of metallic stairs that led to the basement.
The owner closed the door behind them after the last of the group entered the basement, turning on the lights as they all gathered in the center, removing any jackets or hoodies that showed the most of them were wearing t-shirts and tanktops, ones that exposed the midriffs with some of the females.
Getting in the center as they gathered around him, Matt couldn't contain the smile as he whispered so that no one could hear him geek out to himself, "I've always wanted to say this!" He then composed himself with the clearing of his throat, "Alright, here's how it goes down; First rule of Fight Club is; You do not talk about Fight Club. Second rule of Fight Club is; You do not. Talk. About Fight Club!"
They all seemed to get the reference as most of them burst out laughing as did Matt just a second later before he composed himself, "Okay, ground rules; for men shirts are optional, for women, if you don't have bras on, shirts are required. If your opponent surrenders or is knocked unconscious, you win and the fight stops. Only two can fight at a time, and absolutely no bets! This is a fighting club, not a fighting ring."
The others seemed to find those terms agreeable while others grumbled at not being able to place bets before he continued, "If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight. Which means that everyone here has to fight. No punches or kicks to the groin. Other than that, who wants to fight me?"
Matt opened his arms, inviting whatever person wanted to fight first. One of the football players came through the crown, a burly 18-year-old by the name of Darren Mader, shaven brown hair, wearing a black tanktop that he then shed, showing off his muscles, and blue jeans that covered his equally developed legs with tattered sneakers covering his feet.
The bully merely rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, ready for a good fight. Darren started the fight with a punch that Matt caught and then delivered an upper cut to the brute's jaw, sending him back but the bully didn't give him a chance to react before he delivered a kick to Darren's ribs, sending him back further and nearly falling to the others. The others whooped at seeing the fight started, Darren wiping spit that fell from the corner of his mouth with a smirk and Matt grinning as he slammed a fist into his left palm.
His fist slugged across the bully's face, causing him to twirl around before forcing the soles of his shoes to the ground to slow him. Matt merely raised an eyebrow with a smirk before spitting out a goblet of blood.
The two immediately resumed their fight, fists flying in a flurry of strikes and jabs that struck either the ribs, collarbone, side, or the jaw. Matt struck Darren in the face before grabbing the brute by the shoulders and then kneeing him in the jaw, but the football player headbutted him in the ribs and then threw him to the ground, when suddenly Matt struck him in the gut with a kick. Jumping back to his feet, Matt took advantage of Darren's stunned state, kicking him in the thigh and then slugging him in the face when the kick forced him to kneel.
Darren managed to shake himself out of the daze just as a punch came his way, catching it and striking Matt in the stomach, causing the bully to upchuck spit and to be left hooked in the face before Matt blocked a kick and then followed up with a roundhouse kick to the face, and then tackling Darren to the ground when he was stunned by the kick to the face. The cheers of the crowd grew louder as Matt tackled Darren and then started slugging him across the face over and over until the athlete grabbed both of the bully's hands before headbutting him, almost breaking his nose and throwing him off Darren. The athlete attempted to stomp on Matt, but the latter rolled back and got back to his feet, catching a punch in his right hand before striking him across the face with his left hand.
The cheers grew as Matt didn't let up with strike after strike, kneeing him in the jaw, right and left hooking him in the face, and then an uppercut. Time slowed as Darren was thrown off his feet, rising from the force of the uppercut before time resumed and the athlete fell to the ground, almost unconscious while bleeding from the mouth.
Panting from the rush that the fight gave him, Matt raised his arms to the air and whooped loudly, causing the crowd to roared in excitement and exhilaration at the fight. Matt offered a hand to the downed Darren, who wiped the blood from his lips and took his hand. He helped Darren to his feet and the two guys fist bumped.
They got back to the crowd and saw the next two stand up, ready to fight. While they were watching the next fight, one of the guys near him got too loud and annoyed him greatly. Suddenly, without even thinking, he slugged the guy in the face.
Matt looked shocked at what he just did, but the guy barely seemed to notice and neither did the crowd, caring on as the fight continued on uninterrupted.
The bully just remained silent until they left the basement for the night.
XXX
Violent thoughts were as common as breathing is Matt's head now, no matter how much he indulged in them; Fight Club became less of an underground fighting club and more of cult worshipping violence, even the name changed from 'Fight Club' to the Blades of Khorne, whoever the fuck Khorne was. It was small at first; fights got more brutal, using more lethal moves. Then came the weapons. Then the first time someone died during a fight. And he seemed to be the only one that didn't cheer when the rest did at the sight of someone being cut to ribbons by a chainsaw.
Matt found himself overwhelmed with the rage and violent thoughts smothering his head, going out at night to kill anything he saw to relieve himself of the agony of holding in that much rage. To avoid the deaths of other people, he went out to the woods to kill animals. That way he could relieve the agony and not kill any people when he laid eyes on them.
Speaking of the wildlife, either Matt was hallucinating from rage-fueled delirium or the wildlife in the area was changing. Deer had grotesquely exaggerated antlers, snakes were as large as hippos and had armored skin, wolves were now the size of tigers with fur that shined in the moonlight, bugs as big as lobsters crawling on trees of iridescent crystal, and many, many others. And all of them hostile as shit.
For this night of slaughter, Matt was dressed in tattered and ragged clothes that were easily disposable; dirty jeans covered his lower half and filth covered sneakers covered his feet, a tatted zipped up hoodie stained in blood and guts covered his upper half with bandages wrapped on his armed and hands, and a blank mask with only two eye holes covered his face. In his hands were twin axes covered in blood and guts with twin bandoliers of knifes and daggers wrapped around his chest, all craving for blood.
A deer with sharp teeth and tentacle like antlers charged at the corrupted youth, only for its head to be cleaved off by his axes. Suddenly, the tentacle antlers extended and pierced the ground, acting as spider legs before its tendril-like tongue lashed at him, wrapping around his wrist and attempting to rip his arm off, only for Matt to chop the tongue off with the axe in his hand and then using the other to slash the head in half in a bloody display.
With that done, he turned his attention to the other creatures around him, the nearest being a massive ocelot with saber-like bone spikes dotting its hide that leapt at him with a furious roar before its head was separated from its shoulders and a mountain lion with horns and a scorpion tail was gutted by one of Matt's knifes. More and more corrupted wildlife began coming his way after hearing the sounds of metal rending flesh.
Hazed by the rush of fighting, his movements became a flurry of swings and strikes that vaporized any of the corrupted animals into crimson mist. More and more the killings began to blur into an endless stream of blood and death, deaths either by blades and axes, punching and kicking, using wood and rocks or sometimes even ripping horns, antlers, or other appendages off other mutated creatures and using them as pseudo weapons when his axes broke, and he ran out of knifes. Blood of the slain creatures staining the forest and river red, green, blue, orange, and purple, trees being torn down from the force of his strikes, rocks breaking from his use of them as projectiles, a stench of blood and viscera sulfating the air in a flurry of bodily fluids and death.
Matt's thumbs dug into the eye sockets of a deer that resembled the Wendigo as it screeched and tried to claw itself free before its skull was split in half, revealing its brain that was split in twain and oozed blue blood. After seeing the creature die, the urge in his head was finally sated, letting him stop killing and retire to his house for the night.
The killer slowly trudged back to his house, an unbearable smell wafting from him due to the drying of the massive amount of blood and viscera covering him. He passed the neighborhood that was fast sleep and unaware of the crazed maniac walking down the streets. Matt saw an old man sitting on the front porch of what he presumes was his house, gawking when he saw the blood covered monster standing near him.
Deciding to indulge a little in the horror villain trope, Matt merely raised one of his fingers to his mask where his mouth should be and whispered, "Shhhh..." He then continued walking, regardless of the old man putting a hand to his heart in fear.
Eventually, he came to a hill about two miles away from his house and away from any cameras that might be catch him, walking to an empty metal barrel that sat by a tankard of gasoline and a bag filled with a bathrobe and some matches so that he wouldn't be arrested for public indecency. Now that he was there, Matt checked around for anyone that was nearby so that he wouldn't be spotted. When he saw that there wasn't anyone around, the killer stripped himself of all his bloodstained clothes with the exception of his mask and throwing them into the barrel before opening the gas can and emptying the contents into the barrel.
After his bloodied clothes were in the barrel and dosed in gasoline, Matt dressed himself in the bathrobe and then struck a match before throwing it in the barrel. The gasoline immediately ignited, creating a beacon of light from the fire. Acting quickly before the barrel fire attracted any unwanted attention, Matt broke into a sprint towards his house.
After at least 2 minutes of sprinting, Matt reached his house, not even panting despite the long run. Looking around to confirm that he wasn't followed, the killer entered his house and quietly closed the door behind him. Quietly trudging through his one-story house, Matt entered the bathroom and took a shower after shedding the bathrobe and the mask.
It took him ten minutes to wash all the blood off his body and even then, he had to use nearly an entire bottle of body wash to both clean himself and for the smell to go away, and don't even get him started on how much trouble he had getting the blood and fluids out of his hair. After that, Matt redonned the bathrobe and snuck back to his room, donning some of his clothes and going to bed after hiding the mask under his bed.
As he laid there, the troubled young man knew that he couldn't keep doing this. He was running out of clothes to dispose of, his father would begin to ask why he keeps running out of shampoo and body wash, the cops are gonna start looking around since this was the third time this week since he went on one of his rampages in the woods.
These thoughts continued to run through his head until he went to sleep...
Hours later, Matt's crusty eyes pried themselves open to reveal the grey ceiling and that the rage was gone, his head cleared from the violent thoughts for a few days at least. He soon got up and wiped his eyes with his sleeve before his bedrest to stand up, his legs asleep with fatigue toxins as the neurons fire to his nerve endings so that his legs could move, not bothering to see that it was 11:00PM and that it was a Saturday.
Matt donned that same bathrobe and staggered downstairs to the living room, collapsing into the couch where he rested his head on the wall, drifting in and out of consciousness as he tried to force himself awake. Luckily, his father had him drink some coffee that seemed to awake him up.
"You okay, Matt? You look like a beaten snake." His father knelt down and patted him on the face to wake him up, seemingly concerned for his son.
"I'm fine, dad. Just... tired." Matt groggily answered. His father just shook his head and sat beside his son, turning on the TV so that they could see what was going on around town. However, it was not something they had expected.
"Terror has stricken the quiet fishing town of Rever Bay as police discovered hundreds upon thousands of slaughtered animals in the forests." The reporter had a disturbed face as he began, images showing police by the forest where the entrance had been cordoned off by swathes of security tape, "The massacre of wildlife has police baffled as remains of weapons have been discovered but no fingerprints have been found. One eyewitness believes he had discovered the culprit walking down the sidewalk in front of his house."
"I saw him while I was on my porch." The old man reported, looking as scared as he was when he saw Matt last night, the bar under it showing that his name was 'Alan Hunley' and that he was a retired US Ranger, "The bastard was covered in so much blood that I couldn't even make out a face. And then when he saw that I noticed him, all he did was put a finger to his lips and just went," The old man put a finger to his lips and then said, "'Shhh...' I've never been more scared in my entire life."
The scene than came back to the reporter, "No suspects have yet been identified and no leads have yet been made. It seems that Rever Bay now has a mass murderer on the loose."
"Jesus..." His dad muttered in shock as he turned the TV off, "What the hell is going on in this town?"
Matt tried to be as unsuspicious as possible as he could, but he couldn't help but to just turn his head away from the TV, too ashamed to admit to anything about it. A voice that wasn't his then spoke in his head.
"People often ask, 'What is the meaning of killing if you're risking your own life?' It doesn't 'mean' shit. It's about instinct, not meaning. That spark lights up in your brain. And that sweet, sweet dopamine starts to flow..."
XXX
A week had passed since that massacre and the rage had become insatiable. Nothing he did would calm the rage; not fighting, not drugs, not even beating up random people away from the others, only killing would slake the rage he felt. He knew because when he lost control, he killed his parents. It all happened so fast; his mother was screaming at him after he drank himself to a stupor in an attempt to quell the rage boiling inside of him, his father then came in and the two got into a fight, and then something just... snapped.
Matt didn't know what happened after that, his parents were just on the floor with stab-wounds to the gut. Eventually, Matt escaped from the confines of his house and started killing whatever he saw. He'd been shot more times than Fifty by the police and several gun nuts that he killed, stabbed and slashed a thousand times from various people who got strikes in before they died, adrenaline mixing with his blood so often that he wasn't sure when he was moving and when he wasn't.
It was then that he discovered people like him: monsters and berserkers that killed whatever they saw, maniacs that wore the blood and skin of their victims, decorating themselves in the bones and body parts of their victims as a tribute to Khorne. Deciding to hide as the army was coming, he and the other monsters ran to the forest to escape.
Stranger things began when he noticed that there was a settlement in the forest, entering it with the others. it was a wooden chapel-like structure, decorated in the bones and bodies of the dead, and where the dregs hid in the shadows. Soon, the dregs dressed them in red leather armor with bronze decorations grafted on them that seemed to be pulsing with daemonic light, seeming grafting themselves to their skin.
A mask of red leather and bronze was then placed upon his head, daemonic power flowing through his veins as the rage then increased a million-fold to where all he could think was one thought over and over again, "KILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILL!" Like a pendulum swinging over and over in his head, never ceasing unless sated by bloodshed and the deaths of others. Where there should be fear, there was anger. Where there should be revulsion at killing, there was an eagerness. Where there should be horror at what he became, there was nothing. Whatever was left of the man before, now there was only a monster.
Before he could act on these thoughts, the dregs set tables in front of each of them. Sitting on the table in front of him was a pair of two of the most beautiful weapons he had ever seen in his life; two chainsaw-like axes colored in red and bronze, the handles covered in strips of grey cloth with the triggers for the saws sitting below the blades.
The moment he grasped the Chainaxes, he felt a surge unlike any other. The screaming roar of the saw's teeth gave him a rush that he was contain, raising them and roaring in the urge to kill. One that was echoed by the others in the chapel, not noticing that there were at least 40 men and women just like him in armor and masks of similar make and design.
Someone then bounds them in chains after blowing a pacifying mist into their faces, muting their awareness and rage. The priest led them to the far edges of the forest near the town, just as the mist started wearing off. He only vaguely noticed that it had descended into chaos; monsters of red, green, blue, pink, orange, black, silver, and muted yellow.
A roar echoed out as he and his fellow berserkers charged with reckless abandon towards the other cults in their way, the second the chains were undone. The cultists hysterically tried to get their weapons up before they got close but were too late as Matt cleaved a gunner's head clean off his shoulders, as the others were getting through the barricades and painting the roads red with their enemies' blood.
Jason smashed through the windshield of a car and ripped the driver from his seat, tearing off the bastard's limbs off, before he then pressed his hands against the bastard's head and then pressing so hard that the head popped like a rotten grape. Lars and Mary were practically a tornado of blades that disintegrated whatever cultist was unfortunate to get in their way, like one of their Spawns that they had chained up for battle. Adrian rammed through a crowd of cultists, reducing them to pulp from his sheer strength before grabbing a car and use it to smash a fleeing cultist to paste.
Their attention turned to several cultists rolling out a carriage covered in all kinds of seals and runes on the walls and door. The dregs set it down and then break the chains holding it together, before then fleeing in terror from what was inside.
Suddenly, he saw something that disgusted him when it fell open and revealed what was inside it; a possessed, one that resembled a mummified corpse surrounded by purple flames, having elven-like ears, the eyelids and lips burned away to expose burning purple eyes and white fangs, and long bone thin claws.
However, he vaguely recognized the possessed; it was Mr. Bitters. Possessed and warped into this... thing.
Matt couldn't stand this. Such a thing is an aberration to the world, and it must be purged.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" Matt roared before he charged at the possessed, the other Khornates running along with him.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" They all roared in unison before they launched themselves at the Possessed. It roared and unleashed swathes of Warpfire that engulfed the streets, killing the cultists that attempted to flee while they could, along with three of the Khornates before Matt managed to power through the flames and attempted to strike the possessed.
The creature was more swift, dodging his strikes and trying to counterattack with blasts of Warp-lightning before Matt managed to strike the daemon in the chest with his chain-axes, creating a massive wound that bled purple-red fire. It squealed out in agony and lashed out with a tendril of Warpfire that he dodged before uppercutting the Daemonhost, who was thrown into the wall of a nearby store and quickly recovered, vomiting a stream of purple fire and pink corrosive liquid that Matt barely had a chance to jump away from before it melted a car and building behind him.
A screech came out as Matt dashed towards the Daemonhost, who launched beams of Warp-lightning before the berserker jumped into the fray, spinning like a cyclone of death that the demon couldn't dodge before he cleaved through the daemon. It screeched and wailed as the twin halves fell to the ground, before its horrid essence spewed out of its face and was sent screaming back to the Warp.
The body was slowly reformed into its host, Mr. Bitters, who looked at Matt with shocked eyes and choked out his final words before he was sent to the Warp.
"It... was... Mark..." Mr. Bitters breathed his last before his body disintegrated into ash.
Matt merely stared at his teachers remains in silence regret before he saw someone on a chariot. As if on instinct, he sprinted after that chariot, feeling a familiar presence as it came by.
XXX
Fleeing from his twisted friend, Mark raced into the nearest building and shoved whatever he could find in front of the door in a pseudo blockade. Immediately after that, he ran through each of the rooms, until he reached one with a bathroom in the center that was likely under construction before everything went to hell. Matt slowly forced the metallic door open with his strength, tearing the thing off its hinges before he kicked away the blockade, entering the building before looking around for the sorcerer that used to be his best friend.
Feeling blood flowing from between his teeth due to the force of his gritting teeth, Matt roared out like a feral beast, "MARK!" Hearing nothing, he let out another bellow, smashing a support pillar into splinters with nothing but a fist before he roared out again, "MARK! WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Mark heard his roars and clammed up to that Matt couldn't even hear him breathing as he tried to think of a plan. He then went as still as a statue when he heard the telltale purr of saws grow louder, signaling that his hunter was nearby. Mark breathed as quietly as he could, hearing the sound of Matt turning due to his boots scraping against the floor.
When he heard that, Mark decided to take the dive while simultaneously praying to his dark god that he was good at throwing his voice.
"Do you remember, Matt?" The sorcerer said as he used his powers to make it seem like his voice was coming from every direction at once.
It definitely surprised Matt, who started turning around in every direction, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.
"Do you remember, Matt?" Mark repeated, out of habit.
Matt was silent before he exhaled steam through his nostrils, "What should I remember?"
"I remember..." Mark trailed off for a second, thinking back to those times until he breathed out and spoke again, "My first day in 1st grade." That seemed to stop Matt in his tracks, the purr of the chainaxes' teeth slowing and prompting him to continue, "My very first day and the teacher said, 'Good morning, Mark. You can sit here, next to Matthew.' Remember that, Matt? I just moved here from Arizona. You were older. You'd been kept back."
Matt growled but not in anger, his head down in reminiscence as he took his helm off, "I remember that day well enough." He caught his reflection in a surface that had been glassed either by the Warp or by fires. Matt looked horrible; his black hair was now bright red and reached his collarbone with the tips being burnt to a crisp, his face now covered in a labyrinth of scars from blades and fires, his nose broken, and his eyes were a deep glowing scarlet with no irises or pupils. An attempt for a smile only resulted in a pained and lopsided grimace.
The sorcerer, caught in the moment, turned and stared at his reflection in the mirror; one eye was different every time he blinked, there was a part of his flesh that ran from his eye to his chest that was pure sapphire, his blue hair was now disheveled and wild, his other eye seemed to be covered in runes so small that they appeared as dots.
"And now here we are." Mark said remorsefully, almost forgetting to use his powers in that moment.
"And now here we are." Matt echoed, looking down before he stared at his horrid reflection again.
The silence spoke a million words at the two looked upon themselves; one now drowned in blood and the other tangled in the web of fate.
"We used to be friends, Matt." Mark whispered, still using his powers but now sounding more unsure of himself than ever.
"Yeah, you've done alright. World's alright for smart fucks like you." Matt replied, his tone both furious yet contemplative as he stared at his helm in thought, "But what about me? What about fucking men like me? Who can only get through the world with their fists?" He asked as he slowly placed his helm back on his head and hiding his warped visage.
"I don't know." Mark replied, readying his spells for the inevitable fight. There was silence for only a few moments before the roars of Matt's chainaxes roared and struck the wall of the room Mark was hiding in, tearing plaster and wood to splinters. However, Mark anticipated this as he fired a Doombolt that splintered the wall, revealing Matt who couldn't react in time before the bolt struck him in the chest, sending him flying through the air and slamming into the furthest wall from them.
The berserker quickly recovered and launched himself off the wall, rocketing toward the sorcerer who used his powers to summons Tzeentchian runes that he fired at the former, several of which he dodged or ducked under before one of them struck his head and exploded in a blaze of white flames, scorching his helm to where it seemed like it had been seared to his skin.
It barely seemed to slow the berserker down as he continued his rush towards the budding sorcerer, who then conjured several balls of azure fire and throwing them at the berserker without aim. Matt skillfully dodged most of them before he closed the gap on Mark, who grabbed a metal pipe and channeled his power through it, giving it the power to resist the chainaxes, as he blocked a double downward strike and then kicked the right arm in the wrist, causing Matt to drop one of his chainaxes before he blasted the berserker in the chest with a Doombolt, sending him back before Mark slammed the pipe down into the ground, producing an azure shockwave that send the berserker flying.
Matt stopped his momentum with his boots, skidding back and switching his grip from the left to the right hand and then rushed at Mark, who merely raised a skull that possessed a lit azure candle dug into the top before brandishing his hand with runes glowing. Suddenly, silver tendrils of pure warp material burst from every part of the room and lashed at the berserker, cutting him a thousand times, breaking his bones and piercing his organs.
He was not even swayed, his body forcing itself to move as his will forced the wounds to close before he threw a punch to decapitate Mark, only for his hand to burst into a spray of gore and then thrown back to the floor, dropping his chainaxes before he was then impaled by a blade of pure warp energy. Blood spewed out from his mouth and eyes, breathing becoming labored as he saw Mark standing before him with his hand still grasping the skull candle and a blade of silver energy in the other hand.
"Hey, Matt. Word of advice? Going in guns blazing only works if your opponent isn't smarter than you." Mark replied, ripping the blade out of his friend's chest and letting him fall to the floor. Before he left, Mark gave Matt a regretful look before he walked off, thinking that his former best friend would die of his wounds.
Matt growled and groaned, exerting every ounce of his will to stay alive, his heart pounding against his ribs and blood being wrestled from his marrows, the palettes rushing to the wounds and clotting to prevent him from bleeding out, adrenaline and endorphins being pumped into his system to relieve the pain. The berserker forced himself to get up, pressing his hands into the floor as supports for him to lift his upper torso up despite the piercing agony he felt in his entire body.
He didn't care about the will of Khorne, he didn't care about the rivalries or grudges of the past, he didn't care about the stress of his old job, he didn't care whatever the fuck was going on elsewhere in what used to be Rever Bay. He just wanted to fight! And nothing, absolutely nothing, would stop him.
"I have to win... I HAVE TO WIIIIIIN!" Matt roared out like a feral beast, getting Mark's attention as he looked back on the berserker. Suddenly, the Mark of Khorne burned into his arm, claiming his soul to the Blood God and his favor.
An aura of red blazed from his very being, searing his wounds shut as he forced himself to stand. A ragged streak tore through the air as he grabbed something from the realm of brass and blood, revealing a Hellblade; a jagged iron blade burning red hot with the energies of the Warp, etched with runes of slaughter and each screamed with the power of Khorne.
The berserker that used to be Matt turned to the surprised Mark and brandished the Hellblade, "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"
Mark's response was to simply set the skull candle down in front of him before extending his arms to the sides, azure flames hovering above his hands and an avatar forming behind him, long and lean. "Bring it, bitch boy."
Matt immediately leapt at the sorcerer, who lashed out several tendrils of stone and metal at him, ones that he slashed apart in a red blur as he tumbled down only to be thrown back after being smacked by the avatar that then launched itself at the berserker. Matt twisted himself out of the way of its strikes before he slashed it in twain with a single strike, dispersing it and beelined for Mark with a furious roar.
The sorcerer was unfazed as he thrust his hand out as the Hellblade was thrusted towards him. Suddenly, a blast came from Mark's hand that send Matt skidding back before the former screamed out in a million voices, "ARC OF WILL!"
A blaze of Warp lightning burst from his hand, flaring out in all directions and blasting through whatever they struck. Matt was swift enough to block the ones that came his way with his Hellblade, before suddenly, the debris around them was shaped like massive hands that rocketed towards each other with Matt meant to be crushed in a massive clap. The berserker reacted just in time; leaping into the air just as they slammed into each other, splintering them as he somersaulted away, landing near the pile of debris before the sorcerer smirked and then roared out:
"FLAMES OF TZEENTCH!"
Suddenly, a blaze of multicolored flames exploded from the sorcerer, sending Matt flying and stabbing the Hellblade to the floor to slow him down before flipping and landing on his feet, brandishing his sword out as his eyes widened. The flames weren't burning whatever they touched, they were changing whatever they touched; either becoming crystal, slime, liquid, or other materials he couldn't recognize. The changes were causing the building to destabilize, the ceiling and loadbearing pillars buckling under the changes that the flames brought, the structure beginning to shake as the collapse begun.
The berserker jumped and evaded the flames as fast as his body could drive itself, seeing Mark grab his skull candle and run out to escape. Matt readied his Hellblade and slashed an entrance; orange slash marks appeared before the wall burst open, revealing the town and the expansive walls around it, the cloud covered night sky that was awash by the rampant flames.
A cry pierced his ears before he could jump out and escape, breaking him out of his rage and turned to the source in anger... before his eyes widened under his helm when he saw who screamed. It was a small child, having raven-like hair, blue scared eyes, dressed in rags and clutching a small toy. She was looking at him in fright, likely hiding in this building to make sure she didn't get killed by the monsters around the city.
The berserker looked back in the building; the flames were nearly reaching him. He had to leave now before the building went down with him in it. But if he fled now, she would perish in the building. ...No. There would be no honor in that. Such an act is for the weak. And he was not weak.
Acting quickly, Matt grabbed the child, who yelped when he picked her up, before jumping off the edge just as the flames reached the rest of the building and collapsed on itself. Hearing the building collapse from the ground, Mark turned his head before he saw Matt and the child fall to their deaths, eyes wide before he immediately shot his hand out. Suddenly, a blue aura surrounded the both of them, slowly their fall as they softly descended to the streets next to him.
When they landed near him, Mark took the child into his arms, who cuddled against him, before he got on the chariot to escape the town before Matt abruptly jumped onto the ride just as the creatures pulling it immediately bolted towards whatever direction their master desired. Eventually, the chariot escaped from the radius of the collapsing building's splash zone, but not before they were ways away from it.
Mark turned to Matt and said in surprise, "Damn, Matt; why'd you save that kid?"
Matt replied without turning to him, "It was the right thing to do." The little girl hugged him, showing thanks and in comfort at the same time.
Eventually, the chariot reached a point outside of the town, where several others awaited be they civilians or children. They got off, some people in the crowd seeing their daughter and running to Matt, who gave them their daughter. As the civilians all slowly fled the scene, the two friends stayed, overlooking the town of Rever Bay as it tore itself apart with the clashes of the various cults, flames rising from various points while they vaguely saw helicopters and armored cars coming in to contain the situation.
Several seconds later, one of them decided to break the silence.
"Hey, Matt?" Mark turned to his best friend, who turned to him in turn, "I'm sorry... for everything..."
The now calmed berserker only gave a lopsided grin before padding him on the shoulder, "It's fine."
Both of them stayed there until the authorities came, guns raising and yelling for them to get on their knees. They complied peacefully, getting on their knees and putting their hands behind their heads
Rachel: A Loner turned Daemoness
(Warning: TONS of disturbing and sexual content. Read at your own risk.)
Rachel's eyes shot open as she looked around her room, seeing that she was okay while feeling her body for any injuries that she might have incurred in the crash. A feeling of relief washed over her when she saw that she was okay before she laid down on her bed, thinking about what she would do today with her hands resting on the back of her head.
Deciding that she might as well go around town, Rachel got dressed in her usual outfit and walked out, not bothering to talk to her parents. The miserable drunks that birthed her into this world were where they usually were; on their bed, naked and with empty beer cans around their stained sheets. Not even sparing a glance at them, Rachel exited the house after swiping her mother's ID as she looks almost identical to her.
The goth merely walked down the sidewalk, staring up at the grey cloud covered sky while thinking about how she was still alive. A couple of voices caught her attention, turning her gaze to see a curious sight; it was Mark and Matt, talking about how they were still alive while in the latter's front yard. She would have listened in but decided that she didn't care enough to eavesdrop and kept walking.
Thankfully, she got to the liquor store as it was opening, hoping to get a 12 pack of beer before anybody else saw her in there. Thankfully, the cashier bought her ruse and let her buy the twelve pack before she started to head back to her house, intending to get drunk before even the thought of doing homework entered her mind. A scowl came across her face as she gave her thoughts out. She hated that she inherited her parents' love for alcohol, but at the same time, she never could quit as it helps. Not just with life, but with everything.
Rachel reconciled her existence with the fact that due to her parents and her lack of interest in school, she will likely be living in a homeless shelter and doing debased things for money or a place to belong.
"God, why did I have to be born fucked up?" Rachel thought to herself out loud as she was about to reach the path that led to the suburbs where she lived, hoping to just get black out drunk and not deal with the world. Suddenly, as she was about to reach the suburbs, a voice from the alleyway beside her came out.
"Hey, kid." A gravelly voice came from the alleyway, causing her to turn and see the owner. A shady and disheveled man, dressed in a dirty hoodie with the sleeves rolled up over a dirt-stained shirt to where she couldn't tell what color it was, grease covered sweatpants that seemed more black than grey, and red socks with stained sandals. Rachel knew that she shouldn't go anywhere near him, but something drew her to the man, trying to make herself seem disinterested as to not make her seem vulnerable.
"Hey, glad you came. Some friends of mine made these." The guy immediately opened up a duffle bag that was near him, causing her to peak into the bag out of curiosity. It was filled shards of glass was wrapped in red napkins, irradiating an aura that she couldn't identify, feeling pleasurable and hot.
Rachel raised an eyebrow at the napkins and asked the dealer, "What the hell is this?"
"They call them 'Flects', glass tempered by the radiation. Let me tell ya, the high you get from looking at these things beats any fucking orgasm in the world." The dealer grinned an intoxicated grin as he pulled out a few for Rachel, "That'll be a buck and 50 cents. Each."
There was a moment of pause before she decided 'what the hell, it couldn't hurt', Rachel pulled out ten bucks that the dealer eagerly took before handing her the Flects before he said, "Want more? Meet me here tomorrow and I'll give ya more."
The goth girl merely nodded and walked off, stuffing the Flects into her hoodie pocket as she trekked down the sidewalk back to her house, putting her headphones on and playing some Slayer. The heat from the Flects made her curious about what could be so pleasurable about these things, not hot enough to burn her but more like a warm cup of coffee. She shook the thought off as she kept walking. Maybe, these things would give her the excitement that she craved in her life.
A few minutes later, Rachel soon returned to her house, looking around so that she wasn't followed or had anybody coming out and wondering why she had a twelve pack of beer in her arm. And when she saw that she was in the clear, Rachel entered her house through the front door, barely even making a noise from their opening and closing, closing it her off from the world.
Her house was quiet and colorless, the only sounds being the snoring of her father and her mother shifting in her sleep. Ignoring them, Rachel merely marched her to her room with a word, kicking away any empty can in her way out of bored. Once she entered her room and locked the door, Rachel placed the twelve pack by her bed and then dug the flects out of her pocket and placed them on the twelve pack.
Already feeling tired despite it only being 9 in the morning, Rachel fell uncouthly onto her bed, taking her beanie off and staring at the ceiling of her room, thinking about how she couldn't believe this was her life. Taking out a can and cracking it open, Rachel downed its fermented alcoholic contents in one go before tossing the empty can away unceremoniously, hearing it clang onto the floor. Drinking never gave her the buzz that it used to give her.
As she grabbed another can, Rachel felt heat near her hand which made her turn to the pack and see the red napkins. Deciding that it might provide a rush better than her cans of beer. She sat up and grabbed one of the wrapped up flects, feeling the heat and near paper-like weight of the shard. She then decided to throw caution to the wind as she needed some rush to get through life.
Rachel pulled the knot around the wrapped tissue paper apart, unveiling a sliver of stained glass, irregular and no bigger than a thumb with an aura of radiant white heat surrounding it. Using the napkin to wipe away the stains, Rachel saw the glass in its unstained glory before something grazed her eyes. A sight with several millions indescribable things flaring into her eyes and into her brain, causing her to collapse back onto her bed with a loud pleasurable moan to escape her throat.
Absolute pleasure filled her nerves as she felt like the world collapsed around her, falling to a deep sleep when the hot feeling of came over her. She opened her eyes after what felt like an eternity, seeing the sun shining into her window, touching her lightly and gracing her with its warmth. The once jaded and cynical look on Rachel's face was replaced by a lazy and intoxicated grin, writhing around her bed like she was unable to bear the heat.
It was only when she was stripped to her undergarments that she could bear the feeling of pleasurable heat, breathing out a hot and musky buff of air and turned to her nightstand, only to double-take when she saw that it was almost 8:00PM. Confusion boiled through her as she exited her room, going to the living room and seeing that her mother was on the couch, only in her black undergarments like her.
"Mom, why are you in your underwear?" Rachel couldn't help but ask, knowing that she wasn't one to talk.
"Why are you in yours?" Her mother retorted before taking a sip from a bottle in her hand.
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Rachel answered, "It was hot in my room."
"Whatever." Her mother replied apathetically, taking a sip from her bottle of liquor before motioning for her daughter to get closer, "Come lay by your mother, Rachel."
Both her and her mother unwrapped a flect, and gave a look at the broken glass before they fell back onto the couch, gasping in pleasure from the rush that it provided. Neither noticed their hands snaking and grasping each other, falling asleep in the high that followed.
XXX
In the next day, Rachel awoke back in her bed, still in her underwear, looking to her alarm clock to see that it was 5:00AM. Groaning, she picks herself up from her bed and grabs her phone before her eyes bulged out when she saw the contents of the screen.
There was a notification on her phone that read, "Teacher arrested, suspected of mine bombing." She opened the News app on her phone, seeing the whole story.
"At midnight, police raided the apartment of Benjamen Irons upon an anonymous caller. During their search, material that had been found on the mine was discovered, resulting in Irons' arrest. Irons is now suspected of being the one responsible for the explosion, and is now in state prison, awaiting trial."
Running a hand through her hair, Rachel let out a breath through pursed lips before shaking her head, "Jesus..." She pondered for a second and then just shrugged before muttering, "Fuck it. Better get some more before I go into class tomorrow."
Getting out of bed and getting dressed in her usual outfit, Rachel snuck out through a window and jogged to the part of the town where that scumbag was selling flects. As she ran to the dealer's spot, Rachel felt the cool air brush against her skin and every hair on her body prick up, but... it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. She ignored it however as she just had to get to the dealer and get back before her parents noticed that she was gone.
Within just ten minutes, the goth teenager managed to reach the dealer, who was asleep on the ground by the liquor store with a coat covering him for warmth and clutching the bag filled with flects. Thankfully, the dealer noticed her, wiping away the grime from his face before he mutters, "You're here early."
"I know. Look do you have the stuff?" Rachel replied in a whisper, looking around for anybody that might be looking and holding out a hand filled with dollars so that he could give her the flects.
He relented and took the money, not bothering to count it as he dug into his bag before placing at least 5 flects in her hand. Rachel uttered her thanks before she skipped back home, suddenly in a cheerful mood. It was then that she looked upon the world around her as she walked back home; the sky was dark and covered in clouds, orange streetlights lit up the suburbs and reflected off the droplets of rain that started to fall, the quiet rainfall made the night seem less empty, and the occasion light in the house made it seem like an earthly version of the night sky.
Feeling too tired to go through her window, Rachel merely opened the door to her house and entered. She saw her father sitting by the couch with her mother still asleep by his side, however he was wide awake and staring at her, intensely.
Rachel barely reacted, having long since gotten numb from both his beatings and his attitude, "What do you want, Dad?"
"Why are you out at 5 in the morning?" He asked her in a slurred tone, as he cracked another beer.
"Because I do whatever I want." Rachel replied, as she crossed her arms.
Her father scoffed and took a sip of his drink, contemplating angerly, "Why did I have to get such a punk ass freeloader for a daughter?"
"Dad, the only reason we even have a house is because you and mom get unemployment and disability checks." She replied with a deadpanned expression.
"Whatever," Her father waved off in apathy, "By the way, don't worry about your schoolwork."
"Huh?"
"You don't have school until Wednesday, Rachel." Her father apathetically replied, shocking her as he pointed to the phone near the doorframe with his thumb, "They called this morning. You're getting an extended weekend because of the explosion at the mines."
Rachel blinked from this but shook it off, going to her room just so she doesn't have to look at her father' face anymore after closing the front door. After closing the door to her room, Rachel changed to a black tank top and a pair of purple warmup pants before laying back down on her bed after taking the flects out from the pocket of her hoodie.
The goth looked at the flects, thinking about the things that she sacrificed for this. The money she gave the dealer was the last of her money that she had been saving for a car to escape this town, traded for something that is she was wrangled into. She'll probably end up like that chick from Requiem For A Dream, pimping herself to get her next fix.
...whatever. She didn't care about her life anyway. She apathetically tore away the red tissue paper on the first shard that she picked up randomly and gazed into the flect for another high.
However, this look was not like any others; she gazed onto something that was indescribable, something so dark, something that was enticing, and something... perfect...
She dropped the inert flect and was left on her bed, almost seizing from the sight of the thing that had blessed her eyes. There was a wetness leaking from her eyes, bringing her hand to her face, and seeing that the wetness was tears of blood.
Suddenly, her lips started tugging against her will as a quiet giggle issued from her throat before it morphed into a chuckle and then into a full-blown cackle. Rachel fell back to the floor, her laughter growing louder and louder, unable to stop or breath before tears started pricking from the corners of her eyes. Unknown to her, she unconsciously grabbed the inert flect and started carving a symbol in the back of her other hand; the Mark of Slaanesh.
Broken dreams of pain and bliss came through her broken mind as she fell asleep.
XXX
It was still Monday, and the exhilaration still didn't go away.
Rachel felt like she would die from the experiences she felt now; the feeling of the carpet on her fingers, the feeling of a soft breeze on her skin, the taste of liquor on her tongue, the smell of a rose, the sound of music reverberating in her ears, and the sight of the art online, it was all amplified to where she was constantly stimulated, no matter what she did. Ever since that thing she saw in that flect, that perfect thing in the glass, her world seemed to be this menagerie of sights and sounds that gathered in an indescribable frenzy of sensation and experience.
Temptations of exploration of these sensations was scratching at her to where she was nymphomaniacal, debasing herself as so the feelings would be just as extreme as before. At the same time, Rachel locked herself in her room, so she wouldn't going to go crazy from the sights, touches, and smells from the outside world. The sight of the thing in the flect has been a recurring thought in her head until she couldn't stop thinking about it. She kept trying to translate the thing into her art, but such a task was near impossible for every recollection of the thing seemed to either add features or change its appearance entirely.
However, she grew scared when her dreams started to become... debased. At first, it was merely a dream of being with her ideal man, sleeping with him in a dark room on a silky purple bed. Then her ideal version of a woman showed up and then things began to descend as they began to change, becoming more like demons than people. She should have been horrified by this, but everything was in such a haze that she did nothing.
It wasn't just that when she noticed something strange was happening. When Rachel went to the flect dealer to get more flects, she found him dead via a gunshot to the head. Thankfully, nobody grabbed the bag full of flects that she quickly swiped and ran back to her house with such speed that she herself was surprised.
Despite this, Rachel merely spent her day doing flects and just wishing that the world would just disappear.
At night however, she could feel something wasn't right. Like something predatory and dark was on the horizon, something that would be coming for someone who looked past the veil.
Rachel was suddenly pulled out of her dreams when she abruptly awoke back in her bed. She groaned and wiped her face with her arm, before seeing that it was 1:00AM. She groaned at being awoken so early before there was a light that flashed like a strobe coming from under the door. Against her better judgement, Rachel slowly arose from her bed, only clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts.
Curiosity overriding her logic, Rachel slowly opened the door and exited her room with a look of unease coming from her face. The light was coming from nowhere, the sound of something growling behind the walls, and the floor suddenly feeling wet as a metallic smell graced her nostrils.
She looked down and saw a trail of red that flowed from the floor to the living room in the brief flashes of light that graced her sight. The goth wandered through the hall, following the trail of blood that led to her living room where the smell was the strongest and a body-like shape was splayed on the couch. A brief flash of light revealed its identity.
It was her father; he was on the couch, gutted with his organs torn out and splayed all across the floor and walls, his mouth was cut open to the jaw in a disgusting grin that was kept in place with wires, his eyes remained closed as if he was still asleep. It was then that she noticed that blood was coming from his crotch and backside.
When there was supposed to be horror, there was only apathy, like the death of this being was of no importance. Her only response was to merely scoff at this in annoyance.
Suddenly, Rachel was grabbed by the throat and then slammed into the wall by a clawed gloved hand. In the flashes, she could see her assaulter's true hideous appearances.
The first one and who's grasp she found herself in had a black skull-like mask with metal clawed gloves, twin bladed handcannons hanging on his belt, and a silver weapon that resembled both an axe and a glaive that sat on his back. If one were to see under his mask, one would see that his face beheld violet eyes and thin black lips covering pearl white fangs.
The second was the only female in the group with her bodysuit clinging tightly to her figure but her face was covered by a white mask resembling melted wax with black hollowed splotches for eyes and mouth. If one were two see her face, a beautiful woman with short black hair, chalk white skin, black painted lips, and lavish pink eyes. At her side, was a black bladed whip and a black bayonetted sawed-off shotgun hanging on her back.
The third had thick nails and other small objects driven into nearly every part of his bodysuit and banded leather mask. If one could see his face, they'd see a heavily scarred man with black void-like eyes as well as thin blackened lips and rotting teeth that were barely exposed. Hanging on his back was a silver Power Maul with spikes driven into it with crackling purple energy.
The fourth was different as he had black armored plates all over his bodysuit and his mask resembling an SS helmet with a metal face mask. No one knows his face as he never takes off his suit. At his side, was a rectangular shaped machete with a daemonic hilt beside a severed wolf's tail.
The fifth was also different as he had black armor over his bodysuit like Rip, but his helmet had a mohawk of spikes and consisted of a black visor and a black metal facemask that cover the nose and mouth. Like Rip, no one has seen his face. In its holster on his side, was a spear gun while several short spears connected to short nooses lined with hair thin blades and around his left arm was a minigun-like gauntlet composed of shotguns.
The last one was a disgusting obese pig of a man, his bodysuit lacked sleeves that only left his arms to be covered by black armlets with nails driven in, revealing chalk white skin while beady black eyes were hidden by a black blindfold and two Glasgow smile scars on his cheeks. Sitting around his chest were several serrated knifes and cleavers, eager to spill blood.
Rachel could only let out a small gasp before a fist was rammed into her head, knocking her unconscious.
XXX
The dreams returned, more violent and depraved as she found herself in a dark and warm place, lined with arts and designs of impossible beauty that seemed to span longer than she could fathom. Vaguely, music could be heard that she suddenly craved even when she merely heard muted echoes, a cold and comforting wind flowing through her hair and the loincloth with golden coins covering her waist.
She vaguely felt clawed hands brush themselves on her sides and a slick tongue lick the side of her head before she turned to see the face of the most beautiful person she had ever seen. So androgenous and slender, one side masculine and the other feminine, clothed in leather armor lined with jewels and precious metals, with a face of impeccable beauty and purple eyes of pure starlight.
It was so... perfect...
Abruptly, Rachel awoke, finding herself sitting on the most comfortable fabric she ever felt in her life. It was then that she noticed she was naked, blood and a white powder covering her mouth and hands, other fluids not from her body staining her as a pain shot through her back... which was not unpleasant. Slowly sitting up, Rachel leaned against the wall of wherever she was, looking around to see what appeared to be a limousine and a person at the end, who she could not help but to just stare.
If there was one word to describe the man sitting in the limo, it was a toss-up between foppish, flamboyant, bright, and dark. Or possibly all of the above. He was a tall, absurdly thin man in his twenties with snow white skin and neck length vibrant violet hair with streaks of royal purple, magenta and pink, fuchsia eyes with black sclera, black eyeliner, lipstick, and nail polish, and surgical scars that ran from his tear ducts to the Glasgow smile scars that trailed to the back of his ears. The skin below his neck was covered in thousands of tattoos that both somehow wove together yet each individual one stood out, of varying designs and aesthetics that yet again both wove together while each individual one stood out, almost hiding various surgical scars that covered his skin as much as his tattoos did.
Even his clothing and decorations was impossible to look away from; he was wearing a garment that resembled a black Japanese monk's robe with royal purple flames over a black long sleeve tunic that had pink and purple heavy metal designs all over it, shiny black leather pants that with similar designs and had "FUCK THE CORPOS" in big bold red words on the upper right leg, a hot pink cloth belt that had pendent that resembled a silver flaming skulls wrapped round his waist, and black leather slip-on shoes. He had a ridiculous amount of bejeweled gold and silver rings on his hands, black bands with silver flame designs around his wrists, four earrings that resembled daemonic eyes on each of his ears, the nails on his right hand almost resembling claws, around his neck was prayer bead necklace with a purple horned skull pendant, and his teeth being platinum replacements.
The interior of the man's room was a darker shade of pink with electric guitars, rock memorabilia, metal album covers, video games, speakers, duffle bags filled with the hardest drugs money could buy, more duffle bags filled with his custom weapons, and rock posters strewn all over in a surprisingly orderly fashion, while the man himself was strumming a black V-shaped guitar with purple flames printed around the edges, pink fangs on the bottom of the body, the neck having purple snake-like eyes, and the head being a golden demonic dragon's head that had a built in flamethrower, while sitting on his expensive leather seats and watching TV with several naked men and women surrounding him. Then she noticed that he mumbled to his guitar, affectionately calling it 'Hellraiser', with all of his weapons and guitars getting kickass names.
He seemed to take notice that Rachel was awake, giving a charming smile that did nothing to hide the sadistic nature in his eyes, "Ah, you're awake." The strange man motioned for her to come to him, "Come on. Come over here and come to Azzy."
For some reason, she felt compelled to do as he said, as if he had strings attached to her very mind and soul. Rachel slowly and submissively crawled to his side among the other unclothed men and women around him, causing him to smile to her, "Ah, good girl." Az then opened the mini-fridge next to him and pulled out a bottle of chemically laced vodka that he poured into a glass for her and him, "You were wild, last night. Snorted so much coke and heroin that I was surprised you didn't OD. Made a mess of my carpet too."
The strangle and brightly dressed man then downed the glass in one gulp, while she lightly gulped it down. The liquid was so strong that she could feel the bacteria in her mouth die when it touched her tongue and cheeks, coughing harshly and quickly became buzzed as a feeling of heat so intense that she nearly collapsed.
"Quite a kick huh?" The strange man asked rhetorically as he downed another shot of the liquid, before he then gasped as if of some random realization, "Oh, my word; I didn't introduce myself. How rude of me." He held out a hand for her to take, one that she saw triple due to the brain smashing effects of the liquid she imbibed, "I am Karsunia. Karsunia Vatra. But I prefer Asmodeus."
She could only nod and took the hand as the only words that came out of her mouth was a slurred mess of groans, especially after he grabbed the back of her head before slamming her face into a pile of pink powder that she started snorting. Her vision started to blur as wisps of multiple colors and things that she couldn't describe danced around her eyes, before he picked her up and laid her down in his lap.
"Or maybe my real name is Nickola Vatra. Or maybe I'm Josef Mengele. Or maybe I'm Karcist Kranas. Maybe I'm Osmund Raily, Peter Savans, or David Rans. Or maybe even I'm just some random planeswalker, bored out of my mind from various other squares and just decided to go nuts with my experiments. You never know." He mocked as he strummed his guitar.
Rachel moaned and curled next to Asmodeus like a child, who merely smirked and stroked her hair like she was his pet. She leaned against his side before looking at the TV that he was currently watching from.
"Two Girls, One Cup?" She slurred out.
Asmodeus scoffed as he turned off the tv with his remote, "Mediocre. Let's watch something that's actually worth watching." He pressed another button, the TV immediately playing something that she would never forget.
Every moment was a carnival of mindboggling images and sounds, maddening carnage and cannibalism, people fusing to blobs of flesh while moaning and screaming in agonized joy, fluids and drinks mixed into brew that was drunk like black cracked lips and flowed past pearl-like teeth, spikes being driven into flesh that bleed pink viscous fluid, bones being grinded down into powder and mixed with various other powdered drugs before being snorted by an unseen user with a metal pipe, the body of a woman being twisted to where it ripped in half while her screams echoed, spikes growing from the pores of a hand's skin that twitched and clenched from the agony as a child's screams echoed offscreen.
It was the most repugnant thing she had ever seen... and she fucking loved it.
Asmodeus merely had an amused expression before he saw Rachel's transfixed expression, "Good shit, right? Those filmmakers that fall to Slaanesh will do anything for money and substances, but let me tell you, they make some quality content."
The raven-haired girl only nodded as she slicked off his lap and onto the other unconscious bodies around them, laying near the table where Asmodeus ripped open another plastic bag of drugs with his teeth and pouring the contents to the glass table as she slowly crawled towards its before he put a hand in front of her.
"Ah ah ah." He wriggled a finger like he was scolding a child, "What's the magic word?"
"Please..." She breathed like a woman in heat, "Give me more."
Asmodeus' hand then grasped the back of her head and forced her face down into a mountain of cocaine and other drugs, snorting them down without even a second thought, licking the rest up with her tongue like an animal. When she was finished, her head rested in his lap as the Lord of Vice looked down and gave a controlling smirk, "Good girl." He then stroked her hair and stuffed a dollar in her mouth, showing that she was now worthless; a plaything of flesh for someone to defile.
But that didn't matter anymore to her. Her dreams were gone, her aspirations shattered to the wind, and whatever hopes she had before were drowned in this endless tide of hedonism, all that was left was the will of her new master.
Her head was lifted back up as her eyes met his before she mumbled, "Who... were those... black...?" She couldn't finish her sentence from the drowsiness and intoxicants in her system, but he seemed to understand what she was asking.
"Oh, the Black Skulls?" Asmodeus questioned, "I admit, they are an unruly bunch but not without their uses. True, they're practically my servants, but so are they to anyone who can make that grey goop of their's. I mean its powerful stuff, but it's so easy to make. You just had to distill LSD into its purest form, put in a bunch of that special stuff, cook it a little and boom, you get their Grey Ichor."
He then paused in thought before he opened the mini fridge again, pulling out a small jar filled with what seemed like a thick grey paste. The Lord of Vices opened the jar and forced it into her mouth, tapping it so that it'd flow into her throat. Not having a choice and not having the capacity to refuse, Rachel swallowed every ounce of the grey paste, feeling it flow viscously down her throat and past her diaphragm.
The effect was having one's brain smashed out with a slice of lemon wrapped around a large golden brick.
All her senses were overwhelmed by the assault of psychedelic sights, sounds, tastes, and smells, her brains unable to handle the pressure on her brain. She collapsed onto the couch, having a lazy grin and doped eyes as she fell into unconsciousness.
XXX
Rachel's mind continued to haze as time when by and her indulgences degraded whatever morality she had left, losing chunks of her memories and the gloomy face she had before. It was impossible to not smile from the sanity blasting euphoria of these debased and depraved acts, even after she'd been defiled by thousand men and women, after they brought out the hard drugs, and even after they brought out the torture devices.
It was a live of drugs, debasement, humiliation, debauchery, and torture. At one point, she vaguely saw her mother become one of his whores alongside her, but she didn't care anymore. It was all nothing more than the next fix for her.
However, she quickly learned of her master's vanity and callousness, in some parts witnessing it and some parts being told by other servants.
In keeping with his narcissistic personality, Karsunia takes great pride with his appearance, believing that he is beautiful and making so that he even smells pleasant as well as having a dandyish and foppish sense of fashion, dressing in flamboyant and extravagant clothing regardless of the occasion. His tastes often get incredibly disturbing and callous as according to one of his servants, he once genetically engineered a thousand birds with multicolored feathers so he could make a coat out of them, and once created a paste consisting of drug tainted clotted blood and diamond powder to 'restore the sparkle of true beauty.'
Disturbed, she mostly kept quiet as to not incur her master's wrath, lest she become part of one of his 'art projects.' Creations from those that Asmodeus is displeased by, fused into horrific shapes and forms that appeal to the Lord of Vice's sadistic sense of art. Five slaves that displeased him were converted into what he called the Flower of Tears; a monstrous shape with the lower halves fused into on morbid trunk or stem, each arm a pedal and each head a filament, screaming and moaning.
And that she quite actively repressed her memories of his 'Human Mural.'
The next time she hears him say, "Each body is a brushstroke, each cell is a bud," it would be too soon.
Even then, Rachel never gave it a thought as he showered her and the other men and women in the pleasures of the Dark Prince, all for the price of eternal servitude to him and the Prince. With such pleasures and experiences as the ones she felt now, how could she say no?
What was her dignity when dignity is not needed? What was restraint when restraint merely was a crutch? What was morals when morals were getting in her wave?
The Prince was what she needed and all she ever needed. Nothing else.
It was a few days later that she found herself in an old, small and poorly kept apartment, the walls a disgusting grey with only a bed, a cabinet, a couch, and a fridge, a small bathroom, and a small TV inhabiting the place. She found herself still nude and caked in powdered drugs, blood, and other dried bodily fluids, before she noticed that there were markings on the palms, back of her hands, and around her wrists.
They seemed to also be around her collarbone and shoulders, trailing up her neck and to her lower lip and jaw, trailing down to and around her waist. From what little she could recall, Asmodeus told her these were Sarkic and Dark Tongue scripture, giving her same abilities as the other followers of Ion. The former part confirmed when she warped her hand into a snarling wolf's jaw and back, before she noticed some clothes on the bed with a note.
"Clean yourself up and get dressed. There's a bank I want you to rob. Don't worry about killing or not killing, I'll cut the cameras when you arrive, just get everything out of there and get out before police show up." She read out loud after unfolding the note from atop a pair of jeans, a black shirt, some sockets, a pair of shoes, a beanie, and a jacket.
Obeying without question or thought, Rachel entered the surprisingly clean bathroom and showered away the filth that caked her body, revealing that she now possessed various scars of weirdly eloquent design. Now that she had a chance to look upon herself after... how many days she's been away, Rachel slowly wiped the steam away from the mirror, revealing the face that she now possessed.
Her hair had been cut to her jawline combed to the left with the bangs hiding her left eye, her eyes were now purple that she revealed by parting the bangs with her hand, her skin was now pale as snow, her eyelids and lips had black lipstick and eyeliner, her ears had four earrings each, and a small piercing on her nose. No scars, blemishes, moles, beauty or birthmarks, not even stain.
Rachel couldn't help but to stare, tilting her head or making faces to confirm that she wasn't seeing things.
Regardless, she put on the clothes and slowly exited the apartment. Rever Bay seemed to be changing as she exited the apartment, the sky was covered by thick clouds that blocked out the sun even when the time was only 6:00PM, there were less cars and people walking around than she remembered, and a few of the people she did see seemed more paranoid and keeping to themselves while trying to get their homes in time for the night.
She mostly ignored it and put the beanie on her head before walking towards the bank while trying to be as unsuspicious as possible. The corrupted girl seemed to not attract to much attention to herself, but a few jocks at the highschool turned their heads and wolf whistled, causing her to blush slightly at the attention. It was kinda nice, being gawked at by guys, but shook that off when she slowly reached the bank.
Turning her head to make sure that nobody else was coming into the bank, Rachel entered and slowly walked to the center of the lobby, busy with guests and workers trying to either store or get money. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice her as she sat by the doors before turning her head to the streets seeing a black muscle car styled with flames parked across from the bank through the glass doors. The window to the passenger seat was down showing a guy wearing dark clothing, a pair of sunglasses, a hat, a mask that covered the mouth and nose, while having a pair of headphones in his hand.
Rachel did a slashing motion to her throat, giving the man the signal.
The man in the car nodded before turning to the back seat and making a slashing motion to his throat then putting the headphones on. Then she noticed that the red lights on all the cameras in the banks were turned off before the metal shutters lowered to seal off the doors, causing the people inside to panic slightly. Good, the cameras were now out and there was no way for anyone to get out.
Now she can get to the fun part. Rachel stood up and walked to the doors, just as the people came running there to escape. She then gave a disarming smile to the scared masses within the bank.
"Sorry," Rachel said in a disarmingly cheerful tone before her eyes turned black and gave a grin that stretched farther than humanly possible, "But today's the day you all die."
Her body then twisted and contorted in impossible ways, her features melting away and her body split into several thousand inhuman limbs and heads with saber-like fangs. Several people screamed in absolute horror and ran as fast as their legs could, but tentacles quickly protruded from the mass of flesh and snatched several of the employees and innocents, dragging them into fang filled maws that crushed them into mulch.
It was a writhing mass of randomly placed demonic parts arranged in a carnival of madness and flesh, growing and spreading throughout the bank like a demented growing plant of flesh. the only part that could be called the center was sphincter-like peak slick with drool.
Suddenly, the face of an impossibly beautiful woman squeezed through the peak, long stringy black hair spilling out and pooling on the floor. The employees and the investors only had a second to process that before the face gained a face splitting grin and then launched itself at them like a serpent. Its victims only had a second to scream before they were messily devoured by the creature and its horrid limbs.
Hours later, the walls of the bank were red with the blood and viscera of the dead, masses of red rubbery flesh rippling and flowing like liquid. Suddenly, the flesh slowly coalesced, forming a massive bulge that slowly condensed and took the shape of a woman. Features such as a nose, ears, eyes, a mouth, skin, fingers, and toes began forming, a skeleton and organs taking shape inside, hair growing out and piercings returning from pockets of flesh.
Rachel arose from the gunk, moaning erotically as she rubbed her shoulders, gazing at the dead with a serene smile on her face that did little to hide the sadistic glee in her eyes. Remembering the reason her master sent her here, Rachel elongated her arms into long tentacles that travelled into the vault and grabbed all the valuable items that she could, stuffing them all into a large bag that she left near a back door for the others to pick up.
The woman looked at her hands, so caked in still wet blood and a smile of serene bliss pulled at her lips as her master's men entered the banks to collect her and the money.
XXX
Months passed and Rachel continued her deepening dance into the arms of the Dark Prince. The acts became more extreme and debaucherous to the point where she could never before conceive of even feeling this good while being tortured and filled with mind-shattering substances. Her sense of taste changed to where she had her food that was lined with substances and her drinks lined with blood, her table manners gone to the wind, and her sense of art becoming almost as twisted as her master's. Even her music tastes became more extreme as she began getting addicted to Slaaneshi Rock N Roll, which Asmodeus said that worshippers of Slaanesh referred to it as 'Daemon Rape.'
None of it mattered to her as this dance of decadence and blood was her entire existence.
Such was when that Master led her and her fellow servants to a long path underground, composed of black bricks covered in sludge and sweetness. An aroma of sweet smells graced their noses, beautiful techno-orchestral music playing in the background, the sounds of feasting and fornicating steadily getting stronger as they approached, before she then noticed several other slavers with tons of slaves arriving at the hundreds.
They entered a massive courtyard whose design is a fusion of aristocratic and Transylvanian aesthetics, mutilated bodies in torture cages and devices that produced screams like the finest orchestra, decorations of jagged and sharp steel
In front of them, was a massive and grotesquely corpulent man with pale distended skin covered in filth and blood, a smooth and featureless face and head with the exception of a massive grin of red fangs, black clawed hands with gaping mouths with curved jagged fangs and thick long black tongues that lashed out and dragged in whatever was edible, and strong thick legs with black colorization. He was sitting on a throne of a thousand people melted together in a screaming cacophony of agony, a bejeweled chalice of platinum in his hand filled with the distilled organ juices of a Lord of Change that he gargled down, and a massive table sitting on the front steps of his throne that was lined with multitudes of lavish meals, and around him were several others; corrupted nobles who treaded the path of lust, gluttony, greed, and excess into the arms of the Dark Prince.
"Behold: Y'golonac, the Defiler, the Baron of Flesh, and the Eater of Flames." One of the slavers told them as they guided her, her mother, and the several unfortunate souls to the Defiler's court. A deafening belch came from one of Y'golonac's many mouths that spewed out a repugnant odor of stomach acid, drugs, blood, and many other unpleasant smells, causing the white fatty flesh to jiggle before the disgusting creature wiped his mouth on his stomach.
"Ah, Asmodeus!" A deep and succulent voice came from the main mouth of the Defiler in a jovial tone, raising his chalice in a twisted toast, "I see you have brought the slaves and dregs for tonight's festival. Come, everyone!" He extended his arms to the others around him, "Let us all eat, drink, and be merry!"
Cheers came from the slavers and the corrupted nobles, before the slavers all chained their slaves down to their knees, stripping them of their clothing while cleaning them of the filth that covered them. Soon after, several cultists brought out a massive cauldron filled with the remains of various people was brought to Y'golonac, who laughed like a child while clapping his hands together before he grabbed the entire thing and poured the contents down his massive mouth and gullet, making sickening crunching sounds that the nobles and slavers laughed at, but the Defiler showed no shame.
Meanwhile, the hunchbacked creatures of the Defiler then set several jars down in front of their slaves that they quickly uncapped, containing a thick grey paste that they unhesitant began scarfing down. Rachel hesitantly looked at the paste but steeled herself and started gulping it down. Suddenly, as she gulped down the last of it in the jar, the world grew vivid and broke apart.
The things she saw; flesh peeling from a face that reveals dozens of lashing tenacles, pale arms ending in twelve fingers emerging from obsidian dirt, a beautiful woman writhing through purple-black sludge while moaning erotically, eyes sprouting from a field of flesh, a person being dragged kicking and screaming into a massive maw of fangs by tendril-like tongues, and many other horrible and beautiful things danced in front of her eyes.
While their slaves were bristling with the sweet sludge of the Grey Ichor, the nobles and the slavers were engaging in a carnival of drugs, food, male and female courtesans, and flashes of violence. Blood and fluids began spilling onto the floor as screams and cries of pleasures, splashes of wine and drugs lapping into awaiting mouths, and others being tortured and mutilated with their screams joining in the symphony of sadomasochism.
Coming down from the high but still buzzed, Rachel saw her mother nude and being one of the slaves fucked by one of the nobles the look on her face was one of pain and exhilaration, while the rest was covered by motes of light that obscured whatever she saw. Everything seemed to blur more and more as she lost all coherent thought, only reacting to her master's order like when she was used as a foot stool.
Coherency returned and she found herself sitting near Y'golonac, who's grin widened as he gazed at her with his nonexistent eyes and raised her head up with a single clawed finger, "She is beautiful, Asmodeus."
She heard the smile curl on her master's lips before he spoke, "Indeed, she was quite the morsel. She should be quite the feast for you, Defiler."
"Indeed." Y'golonac grinned as he licked Rachel's face, the slimy tongue making her moan at its rough touch before the Defiler leaned back against his flesh and bone throne, blithely laughing out, "Now, then. Both of you entertain me."
It was then that she noticed that there was another woman sitting beside her, dressed in purple and gold lined garments that resembled traditional Hindu clothing same as the one she was currently wearing. It was her mother, now having a pixie cut and hundreds of horrifying tattoos and body art, black lips and black nails, black sclera and pink irises, several silver earrings on her ears, loose fitting bracelets around her wrists and several silver rings on her fingers. Rachel was about to stand up, when she noticed that her hand looked the same as her mother's.
In a reflection in a pool of blood, Rachel saw that she looked like her mother: same hair, same black lips, eyeliner, and nails, same piercings, same eyes, same tattoos and body art, same clothing, same rings, and same body and figure. They were practically sisters or twins, both having fallen into the deepest pits of corruption and the arms of the Dark Prince.
...whatever. She could get used to this.
Slowly, she stood up alongside her mother, beginning a dance that both suddenly knew like they had known it since childhood, a string of movement and force that mixed with several other slaves playing gold and silver instruments that they couldn't identify. The dance and music wove into a maddening display of colors and sights as the courtyard seemed to grow vivid and things that weren't there before appeared.
They lashed out long purple cloths from nowhere, whipping them around in serpentine fashion until they resembled actually snakes that spat out fire and light. Purple light trailed from their fingers, clanging from the metal around them, echoes trailed behind every movement until there seemed to be thousands of them dancing as reality unraveled around them.
As they danced, a spiral in pink flames surrounded them like the Prince's eye had been turned and was now watching them as debauchery and death surrounded them in hordes of decadence. The Defiler laughed and laughed, watching as the flames coalesced in front of him in the shape of a beautiful vaguely humanoid thing. His crimson grin only widened as he offered his chalice of distilled daemon innards to the creature, who graciously took it and drank deeply, the multicolored fluid dripping from the throat to the stomach as they seemed to materialize the creature's physical form to the material plane of existence.
Soon, a third dancer joined the dance. Long silver hair cascaded down with four golden horns poking from the shining mane of hair, the face and body a perfect fusion of masculine and feminine, with a slender, muscled body possessing small breasts and wide hips, violet skin with fingers ending in long golden claws. The armour was a tad more modest that the mother and daughter, but halfway down shifted into a flowing gown of purple cloth, decked in gemstones and golden thread that shaped themselves into enticing designs.
It continued on, the others intensifying their monstrous decadence as blood, organ juices, spinal cord fluid, and stomach acid spilling onto the floor, filtering into the ducts and being feed to the dregs hiding in the pipes. The music and movement intensifying until they reached a climax, the manifested thing roaring out in primal release before it burst into a blast of pink and purple, sending the mother and daughter into the crowd where they were caught by the awaiting arms of the perverts and deviants of the crowd.
Y'golonac laughed in amusement as he clapped his hands together, his voice a shrill cackle of excitement before he squealed out, "Oh, marvelous! Absolutely marvelous! I have never been so entertained in twenty years!" A content sigh escaped his lips, before he rested his head on his left fist, "Now... Entertain me more."
Rachel, having a dazed look in her eyes that contrasted the intoxicated and doped up grin on her face, asked the Defiler in a submissive tone, "So, what do you want us to do now?"
The crowd was silent as the Defiler was, an attempt at a look of contemplation crossing his eyeless and noseless face for a moment before he declared to both her, her mother, the courtesans, nobles, and others, except for Asmodeus, "All of you, except for my Asmodeus, destroy yourselves! I demand your blood and bones!"
His command was obeyed almost immediately, the others began drinking the blood of others, fucking until their bones broke, and eating the flesh of others and themselves. An unseen figure grabbed Rachel by the arm and ripped the dress off of her crotch and breasts, exposing her entirely as a steel blade pierced through her cervix. A scream escaped her lips, one of rapturous pleasure instead of blinding agony, piercing through her ovaries and organs before the continuous reattraction and reinsertion began pulping her insides until they had all been reduced to a chucky soup of flesh that had been trapped inside her. Rachel did not die as the chuck pulped themselves together and reformed her organs after she hissed and dug her teeth into the neck of her mutilator, the jugulars bursting against the force of her fangs as the fresh drug and alcohol fueled blood flowed down her neck and into her stomach, giving her a great high as she dug her fingers into the flesh of his shoulders.
Driven mad by the taste of flesh, the girl dug her hands into the chest of her violator and ripped it open, burying her head in the cavity and feasting on the entrails. A hunger and madness broke through the barriers of her brain, ripping her blood covered head out and tearing open the body, spilling the blood and whatever entrails were left onto the rest of her body. Another barbaric soul snuffed out and joining the Prince in the Silver Palace.
She moaned in a way no lover could ever cause. Was this what they felt? Was this their experiences every day? She felt like a dream that was made of broken hopes, beaten and humiliated for all to watch as another grabbed her and forced to the floor, used as a thing for a pervert to stuff his cock in. And it felt... IT FELT SO FUCKING GOOD!
She didn't even resist as someone grabbed the back of her head and forced her mouth into a massive phallic tentacle, another tearing her back apart with claws and whips, her limbs broken and twisted in ways that were never meant to bend, her heart pounding to where it began to crack against her ribs, her flesh forcing itself to knit their wounds to that the rapture and agony could continue, her blood and saliva now looking like a decadent wine that she must consume.
It was then that she saw Y'golonac get off his throne and join the debaucheries, devouring anyone he could grab with all three of his mouths, the fatty white flesh quickly being stained red in blood and purple in the wines and concoctions of the feasts. The Defiler grabbed a woman and bit into her before ripping her in twain before his hand mouths devoured the mutilated parts, before using the black tentacle like tongue began lapping up whatever they could touch, be they blood, drinks, drugs, flesh, organs, and bodies.
The Defiler grabbed Rachel and hoisted her in the air like a father raising his cheerful child into the air before he bit into her torso, slurping her intestines like bloody pasta and ripping her stomach and lungs out, scarfing them down like a joyous meal before throwing her away when he was finished, letting her fall to the ground like an empty sac of meat.
Rachel was left there with a smile that could only be described as the purest of bliss, the others still cheering out in rapturous agony as Y'golonac desecrates and devours the bodies of the other participants of the feast. The pain coursing inside her was one that was unfathomable, intensifying as she felt the organs he devoured regrow inside of her.
Blood poured from her eyes and ears, suddenly feeling more tired and lethargic when suddenly a fire speared through her like an inferno of pleasure and pain. A blaze of purple burned in her eyes, as she slowly started to twitch and seize before she saw her mother having the same glow in her eyes as well as all the others, dead or alive, except for Y'golonac and her master; the former merely wiping the blood of his crimson teeth and the latter walking towards her.
"Master?" Rachel asked meekly as he knelt down and patted her head affectionally.
"Don't worry, Rachel. Once you find yourself in the Palace, come back to me." Asmodeus assured her of what was to come.
She vaguely felt a black-purplish slime form and coil around her leg, crawling up her body and slowly taking the form of a female with long hair and a curvaceous frame just like her before she heard a whisper sweeter than the purest nectar of the Gods themselves. The Dark Prince, Slaanesh purred into Rachel's ear as she slowly went to sleep, "Welcome Home, Little Kitten."
A doped smile appeared on her face as her entire body was enveloped by the slime.
XXX
The sight that awaited her eyes when they opened was a purple-black sludge that she was submerged in. She looked around with the awe of a child, wadding her hands through the sludges as she wondered where she was. A voice, sweet and terrible, echoes through her soul and in her mind, "Emerge from the pools and behold the Silver Palace."
She slowly forced herself to move, swimming into the deeper parts of the lake of sludge in a wide backstroke, not needing breath or food to survive as she slowly reached a dark fissure in the lake floor, as a light blurred above her in a dance of brightness. Slowly, the damned woman reached into the dark embrace of the fissure until her hand touched a smooth glassy surface, colder than the winter snow. Her fist closed around the Serpent's Eye, a jewel composed of every jewel and precious stone combined into a single perfect jewel. Slowly, she withdrew her hand with the item and held it before her in the fading light of the blood red suns and it glowed from within a ghostly purple light. Strange and Eternal.
The Serpent's Eye. Made from the collective crystalline hearts of millions of Aeldari, whose corrupted emotions and final thoughts of agony before they were devoured by the Prince of Pleasure during the Fall. All the suffering, all the agony, all the unslakeable thirst and hunger for her vices, the unmourned loss of her parents had led her to this sliver moment of time which she now found herself.
Her soul suddenly was flooded with the corrupting essence of Slaanesh, stripping away the rest of her humanity and filling the spaces with the dark power of the Prince. She felt herself changing, her form warping, taking away all that was and replacing it with the new design of Slaanesh. Now, forever apart of the Dark Prince, she dropped the Serpent's Eye back into the fissure before slowly swimming back to the surface. A series of pink lights piercing through the layer of sludge separating her and the Silver Palace as she raised a hand
A hand emerged from the lake of sludge grabbed onto the edge and pulled the rest of her to the surface covered in the sludge. As she emerged and crawled away, the sludge hardened like a cocoon and fell off, revealing her form for all to see. Rachel was dead, and a Temptress named Rys took her place.
The waters revealed her new self for her to see, causing her to gasp; an impossibly beautiful woman looked back at her with flawless violet skin, black lips and eyelids with gold markings, purple-black hair in a pixie cut decorated in golden scourges with a half crown of horns on the left side of her head, her eyes having black sclera and purple glowing irises, her hands ending in retractable golden claws, her limbs covered in golden bracelets, her feet black and shaped like stilettoes. The only clothing on her was a regal purple shawl resembling traditional Hindu clothing with the Mark of Slaanesh engraved in gold lazily draped around her crotch and legs, and the waist wrapped in black leather lined in golden studs.
A smile tugged at her lips, before a noblewoman's laugh issued from her throat and she began dancing in pure bliss.
So, this is how it felt to shed her humanity... it felt amazing.
It was then that she noticed that there were several newly spawned Daemonettes, Temptresses, Succubi, Keepers of Secrets, and Eviscoraxes slowly emerging from the same pool of sludge as her. Suddenly, she remembered her master and, in her mortal self's loyalty, snapped her fingers, opening a rift to the mortal world that she immediately entered.
XXX
Rys found herself in the courtyard where she and the others died, finding that the floor was now covered in blood and viscera of the slaves, slavers, and nobles, very few were still intact two of which were the bodies that her and her mother inhabited. The music players were dead, now nothing but piles of meat and bowstrings, while some of the dancers and chefs for the feast had also been consumed in the rampant debaucheries, food, drinks, and drugs mixing with the blood and meat into a decadent slurry.
The only ones left were Asmodeus, who was surprisingly clean but had blood all over the lower half of his face, and Y'golonac, who was now in the form of a nude overweight man yet retains his blank face save for the blood red grin. Her sudden appearance gained their attention, before Rys noticed that the Daemonettes, Succubi, Temptresses, Keepers of Secrets, and Eviscorax she saw were reentering realspace, possessing whatever they could use as bodies.
Realizing what they were doing, Rys turned to the body that her mother's mortal self used to inhabit and, perhaps in a sense nostalgia, proceeded to possess it. The body stirred slightly before her eyes fluttered open, seeing the muscles twitch at her mental commands. The Temptress giggled as she stood up in a slithering fashion, mentally comparing possessing a mortal as like wearing a gimp suit composed of flesh, forcing it to twist and contort in ways that it was never meant to while its wounds sealed up.
With a smile too wide for anything of this world to produce, she began twisting her mother's body in ways that it was never meant to; forcing it to produce spikes along the spine, gaining horns and smooth violet skin, fusing the toes as the feet were warped into stiletto-like shapes, liquid gold spilled through the pores of her skin that quickly solidified into the bracelets, covering her feet in a stiletto shape, and becoming decorations for her hair, her sclera becoming black and her irises becoming pink. Pink mist materialized and then became a ragged purple shawl with golden linings and finally, were that sat at her tailbone, sprouted a purple scorpion's tail with a spear-like stinger.
Asmodeus gave a look of approval while Y'golonac put a hand to his chin and his grin widened in lust, causing her to blush as a lascivious beam crossed her face. She suddenly gained a love of being lusted over, wondering how narcissistic she must be to be flattered by mere looks.
Suddenly, Rys noticed that the body she used to inhabit start to twitch before rising to its feet. The legs coiled around each other before fusing into a writhing serpent's tail the surface resembling marbled enamel, bleeding to a metal sheen at the ridges, producing wings that Rys secretly wished possessed in her ethereal form, twin golden horns curled out from her brow, her skin becoming purple and leathery as it became a powerful armor that was lined with gold. The face was unchanged, but the purple hair now had golden streaks and the eyes were now burning gold.
To her credit, the Temptress immediately realized who was possessing her mortal body.
"Mother." Rys bluntly stated to the Daemonette possessing her mortal body, her voice sensuous and having an otherworldly echo.
"Daughter." Her mother replied, having the same echo as her daughter.
"Rachel?" Asmodeus asked the Temptress, sounding very interested in this new development.
Turning back to her master, Rys smiled passionately and posed with her arms behind her back, "Rachel Piers is dead. I am Rys, and I've come back home, my Master."
"Well, then let's go home, Rys." Her master offered a hand that she took while beaming, following him out of the courtyard. Y'golonac, now in a jolly mood akin to that of a Nurglite, followed them, along with the mother and the now daemonic nobles, and behind them the Daemonettes, Temptresses, Succubi, Keepers of Secrets, and the Eviscorax, now hoping to bring new sport to their existence.
Bob: Loner turned Gardener
The Land of the Plaguelord, often better known as the Garden of Nurgle, is no ordinary garden. Perhaps it is not really a garden at all, but the mortal minds that contemplate the manifested will of the Plague Lord must attempt to make some sort of sense out of what they have seen or heard about in whispered tales. They must place it in some sort of relatable context that they can consider without going insane. The same tomes and other forbidden texts that have attempted to describe the lord of the land himself have, for the most part, agreed that the idea of Nurgle's realm being a perverse, deadly, and yet strangely beautiful garden best puts Chaos into terms they can fathom.
Like a normal garden, the domain of Nurgle is home to a bewildering array of flora and fauna, all interconnected and supporting the whole. Beds of bright blue shovelpetal plants dig themselves up and leave the dirt in which they grew so that Plaguebearers can plant new skullseeds in the rich loam. As the skullseeds grow and blossom, they attract bounding, stomping, over-exuberant Beasts of Nurgle that mistake their fruits for the heads of new playthings. This scatters their matter violently into the air where it comes to rest on the wings of the ubiquitous flies. Slowed by the sticky pulp of the splattered plants, these insects become easy prey for other flying creatures that ingest them as they soar through the rot-choked air.
Bob slowly woke up, groaning as he put his hands to his face before wiping them off, coughing as he sat up as if he was sick. Not wanting to sleep anymore, Bob groggily got out of his bed, going to the bathroom and splashing water all over his face to wake himself up. As he stared back at his reflection, Bob noticed that his face was rather pasty and pale, his eyes sunken in slightly.
Suddenly, a bout of nausea overcame him, and he rushed to the toilet before he vomited out a black bile from his stomach, continuing for three minutes until his stomach was quite literally out of fluid to expel. Bob collapsed onto the floor of the bathroom as he coughed from his suddenly vomiting spasm, using a towel to wipe the bile off his face. He hated vomiting, it always made him feel like a sack of shit and piss for doing it.
"God, what was that all about?" Bob wondered out loud as he wiped the remaining bile off of his face with some water after managing regain the strength to stand up and get to the sink. After that episode was over, Bob managed to regain his bearings and slowly limp downstairs.
The moment he got downstairs; however, the sickness suddenly left him almost immediately. Like a massive relief just came over him. Bob blinked at this sudden feeling leaving him before he shook it off, thinking it was just something unimportant.
Looking into the fridge after entering the kitchen, Bob merely took out a carton of milk and then grabbed a box of Lucky Charms, pouring both into the bowl before setting down and turning the TV on.
The TV showed several videos from the mines, dragging out tractors and vehicles with their occupants fused with the interior, red hot rocks, and an iridescent aura of light. Several shots showed the crystals that he had uncovered being wheeled away into trucks.
"Breaking News!" A female reporter came on the news, shuffling her papers while the scenes from the mine was shown on the side, "A massive explosion in Rever Bay gold mine rocked the small fishing town last night, resulting in the deaths and injuries of several miners. Out in the mine is our very own, Max Dorsey. Max?"
"Thank you, Tamara." Max Dorsey replied as he motioned to the destroyed mine behind him, "A grisly scene hit Rever Bay's gold mine last night as a massive explosion rocked the mine, killing several workers and disfiguring and injuring several more. The source of the explosion and any signs of the explosion being manmade has yet to be identified. The mine has been cordoned off from the public as government radiation workers are being called in to investigate the mine for signs of lethal radiation. A statement regarding the statis of the mine will be released following the investigation."
Bob nearly dropped his spoon when he heard that, his mind blank when it showed the mine. So, much so that he didn't hear his mother come in and see the news, gasping and putting her hands to her mouth in horror.
After that, she got a call that school was cancelled until they could clean up the material from the mines. On the plus side, Dad could still go to work at his job in the meat shop. Still, Bob was left wondering what could have happened when Irons took the sample from the crystals.
XXX
3 weeks later...
Rever Bay High School football field.
Bob slowly came to before he found himself laying on the grass of the football field, looking around to see that it was night and that it was mercifully empty. The depressed teenager merely forced himself to stand up and look around, wondering how he got there in the first place. It was then that he noticed the grass was swaying with his every moment, they tensed as he raised his hand, bristled as he breathed, and flattened as he lowered his hand.
He looked at his hand again before he raised an arm and curled it into his fist. Suddenly, several vines arose from the ground with that terminated in maws with three rows of needle-like fangs.
Bob gawked as he saw the vines, backing away from them in shock before he looked down and saw vines wrapping around his feet. He tried to move his legs, but the vines held him in place before he stopped struggling and saw them crawl up his legs and to his arms. They stopped when he stopped moving, gently lowering as he slowly began to calm down.
The teenager looked at his hand again and saw that twin vines wrapped around his finger, blooming into a flytrap that squealed and lashed its thin tendrils around.
Fear overrode every part of him, yet he was still, looking around as they seemed to grow into the football field and coil around the goalposts. He looked on with wide eyes and a slackened jaw, suddenly feeling feelers and insect legs crawling up his back, feeling blood weeping from his eyes and nose, his nerves like jelly as he shook in place.
Laughter than echoes through the field and his ears before he suddenly let out a scream...
XXX
The next morning...
Bob's house
Bob awoke with a gasp, seeing that he was back in his bed. He sat up and looked around with a frantic expression that slackened when he saw that he was back in his room. The teenager looked like he was a few millimeters away from a heart attack before he collapsed against the headboard of his bed with a relieved breath, thinking that it was just a dream before he decided to get up and get breakfast.
When he got out of bed however, Bob saw that his feet were covered in dirt and grass stains. His gaze was frozen in shock at the stains before he rigidly turned his gaze to the sheets. They were stained with dirt and grass as well.
The revelation that the dream may have been real was too much for Bob, who ran to the bathroom to puke. Or at least he tried, as the only thing that came out of his mouth when he came to the toilet was only wheezes of breath. After the 5th wheeze, the feeling of nausea passed before he stood up on weary legs, gripping whatever he could get his hands on and using them to keep him from falling to the floor where he then looked himself in the mirror, seeing his pasty and pale face with sweat pouring out in gallons.
It was only after splashing water on his face that he could start to relax.
"Just calm down." Bob told himself, trying to relax himself so he doesn't have an aneurism over the revelation, "Just calm down. Go downstairs and don't think about it. Tell them that you were grabbing the newspaper and you fell into some mud, they should buy that. Okay..." His nerves relaxed enough that he was able to stand up and walk without assistance.
He managed to walk down the steps to the kitchen where his mother sat at the round table, drinking coffee as she read the newspaper, turning to see him descending the stairs. She blinked when she saw how pale he was, getting up and putting a hand to his head, "Bob, what happened? You're as pale as a sheet."
"I'm fine, Mom. Just had a nightmare." Bob waved her off, wiping the sweat and water off his forehead and sat down, "But can I just get some breakfast?"
"Sure, sweetie." His mother ruffled his hair affectionately before giving him some of her toast and eggs that he ate eagerly, feeling like he hadn't eaten for days. Once he filled up on that meal, Bob just relaxed in his chair and pulled out his phone, trying to suppress the dread that came through him. After a few minutes, his father came down to the kitchen in his grey sweatpants and a bathrobe, having a grumpy expression.
"Morning, Laura." His father flatly greeted his wife before his eyes met Bob's for a few seconds but just walked off, letting his son just sit there and play on his phone.
His mother then interjected and said in an offended tone, "Don't just walk off, Thomas!"
"Okay, okay." His father conceded after a sigh and gave a suggestion, "After work, I'll take him to the next game. Is that fine?"
Laura rolled her eyes and responded in an exasperated tone, "He doesn't even like Football. If you'd spend more time with him, you'd know that."
"I spend time with Bob!" His father shot back, annoyance and indignity creeping into his visage.
"You haven't even said one word to him!" His mother retorted, motioning to Bob who hadn't responded to the entire conversation.
"Oh, fine. Hey, Bob, what's up?" Thomas relented and then tried to strike up a conversation with his son, to which Bob, not wanting to talk, just turned away and kept eating. His father then turned to his wife and yelled in an exasperated tone, "See?! Every time I try to talk to him, he shuts down!"
"And I wonder where he gets that from." His mother replied sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.
"Oh, here we go!" His father rolled his eyes as he saw where this conversation was heading before he turns to his wife and shot back, "Little miss perfect and her flawless parenting skills!"
His mother narrowed her eyes at that remark, "What?"
"Oh, you're always in his ear, telling him what a screw up his old man is!" Thomas accused his wife, pointing to her before looking back to the windows to where the destroyed gold mine originally stood, "Where were you when I was slaving away in the mines?!"
"I should have listened to my mother when she said not to marry you!" Laura shouted, crossing her arms as she scowled at him.
"Oh, back on this again. I was never good enough for your parents." Thomas mocked as he started staring out of the window.
Something in Laura snapped as she screamed out, "YOU WERE NEVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!"
A deafening silence came over the kitchen as Thomas looked at her with a shocked expression as did Bob, the yelling snapping him out of his funk. Even Laura put her hands to her mouth, not believing what she just said. There Thomas spoke in nothing less than a snarl, "So the truth comes. out." He then yelled out as he pushed past her and straight to his son, "COME ON, BOB: PACK YOUR THINGS! WE'RE LEAVING!"
"DON'T YOU DARE!" Laura screamed as she grasped onto a surprised Bob.
"HE'S MY SON!" Thomas yelled out.
"HE WANTS TO STAY WITH ME, THOMAS!" Laura yelled back.
"OH, WHAT?! YOU TOOK THE HOUSE AND NOW YOU'RE GONNA TAKE MY BOY!" Thomas yelled out.
"DON'T YOU SCREAM IN FRONT OF MY BABY!" Laura screamed at him.
"I'LL SCREAM AS LOUD AS I WANT!"
"OH, YOU'RE GOING TO THAT SECRETARY?!"
"SHE'S TWICE THE WOMAN YOU'LL EVER BE!" Thomas yelled out as he grabbed Bob and dragged him up the stairs. The teenaged son merely tried to regain his footing when his father let go when they got to his room.
"Bob, take a shower and pack your things!" His father yelled as he went to his room to pack, "We're going!"
The teenager tried to piece himself together before he stopped and asked, "Take a shower?"
His father sighed and bluntly said, "Look, Bob, I really don't mean to be rude, but you smell like a murky swamp." He went back to his room where his wife came up in an attempt to stop him from leaving, resulting in another argument.
Bob blinked and looked at his lightly mottled skin before he sighed and relented. As he entered the bathroom and removed his shirt, Bob stopped as he saw the state of himself in the mirror; he was almost nothing but skin and bones, his skin was now bleached with various grey splotches, there were slight wrinkles in his cheeks but that was it.
He stared at himself, before he shuddered and enter the shower after taking off the rest of his clothes. The hot water was like stream of death for the various bacteria and grime that was crawling all over his skin, taking shampoo and conditioner to clean his hair and bleach to clean the rest of him. Steam rose from the curtains as if one could hear bacteria, they would hear millions of different types of bacterial and viral agents cry out as they died.
The teenager merely scrubbed his skin and hair, washing the dirt and grime off of him. As he continued cleaning himself, Bob noticed that the water that turned black from all the grime that was being cleaned off his body before it slowly turned grey from the cleansing water and cleaning supplies slowly killed all the bacteria and maggots that were growing in his skin.
When he got out of the shower and dried himself off, Bob dressed himself in a white long sleeve shirt, brown pants, and white socks. With himself finally dress, Bob wiped the condensation off the mirror, before he recoiled that the sight.
"Whoa." He gaped.
Almost his entire skin had been bleached white, his hair was now an emerald green, all the blotches on his skin were gone, and to add to the strangeness; it was as if he had lost around 50-pounds despite it only being ten minutes when he entered the shower. Bob then noticed that there were no things crawling from beneath his skin, like the bleach he used was able to kill the thing beneath his body.
Shaking it off and deciding to think about it later, Bob exited the bathroom and put a coat and tennis shoes on before he walked out of his room.
XXX
1 week later...
Bob sighed as he walked down the street back to the motel room that his father had rented. It had been a week since his parents split, his father and him temporality relocated to a motel room while his mother kept the house. Some of his family on both sides attempted to try and calm things down, but he doesn't know how that's going.
Still, he had to just grin and bear it. Hoping that if he didn't show anything resembling emotion that that he'd be able to bear it. But, as he walked on, Bob felt waves of despair crashing into him as he kept his head down in an attempt to that nobody who walked by to see him cry.
This was his life. His parents were tearing each other apart, he didn't know who he loved more, everything he knew was falling apart and he couldn't stop it. Bob still held it in and waited until he got to the empty motel room to cry his eyes out before his dad came home.
He stopped when he saw that he had come back to the motel, eyes red with black tears running down his cheeks, staring at it in a blank state of despair. The teenager merely shook his head and walked to the stairs to just go to his room and shut out the world.
A scream came out from somewhere, causing Bob to turn to the source and gasped. An apartment building near the motel was on ablaze, a crowd quickly forming near it as firefighters came to cordon of the area and to put out the fire. The fact that there was still paint on the walls made it clear that the fire was very recent and that meant that there could still be people in there.
His curiosity overriding his despair, Bob walked towards the building before he broke into a sprint, joining the crowd as they saw the fire department trying to put out the fires. Bob looked to one of the horrified people in the crowd and asked, "What the hell happened?!"
"The building suddenly caught fire!" One of them told him, "The fire department is trying but there are still people in the building!"
Bob's eyes shot back to the building, scanning every part of the building as the fire spread to the rest of the structure before his eyes locked onto a particular window on the top floor. A child was in that room, attempted to find a way out but not finding any route to escape the flames.
"Oh, my god." Bob spoke on reflex, before pointing to the window, "THERE'S A KID ON THE TOP FLOOR!"
The crowd heard him and saw the window where the kid tried to escape from, and all reacted in horror. Some shouted out for the kid not to jump while others screamed in horror, the firefighters started arguing as they couldn't decide on who should stay and who should go in and try to get the kid out. Bob looked to the fire and the kid and back again, conflict brewing in his heart before something inside him cracked.
"OH, GODDAMNIT!"
Against his better judgement, Bob sprinted through the crowd, ducking under the barricades and then dashed into the building much to the shock and disbelief of the crowd who yelled for him to come back. He charged into the door, ripping it off its hinges before he sprinted into the burning hallways, ignoring the flare of fire that came towards him as he sprinted up the stairwell.
Such intense heat poured down on him that it reached unbearable levels, yet he found himself not sweating, even as he barged into the top floor and kicked down door after door to find the kid. The flames blazing out from the exposure to more air, Bob sprinting through the flaming halls as he came to the final door and reared his foot back before kicking it open, revealing the apartment where the boy screamed at the sound, only to calm when he saw Bob rushing in.
Bob immediately rushed over to the boy and asked, "Hey, come with me, kid!"
The kid, to his credit, immediately jumped into Bob's arms and the two tried to flee while they could, only for the ceiling to collapse in the hallways, causing flaming debris to cut them off from their escape. The two stopped before they could collide with the flaming debris, with Bob looking around and seeing another door, running to it and using his coat to grasp the hot doorknob, opening the door and seeing a hallway that the fire began spreading to.
The kid started crying, thinking that this was the end, causing Bob to hug the boy.
"No, no, no." Bob comforted the crying child, running his fingers through the platinum blond hair of the boy, "Don't cry. I'll be here until the end."
That seemed to calm him down a bit, before he mumbled out, "While I see, Mom and Dad again?"
Bob's lips curled into a gentle smile, "You'll see them again. They'll be waiting for you in the garden." He paused, wondering why he just said 'the garden' instead of the next life. He then shrugged. Whatever. It didn't matter when they were about to die.
"HARRY! HARRY!" He heard someone scream, causing him to look up. Through the window, he saw a man and a woman crying on the roof, looking in through the window. It hit Bob like a ton of bricks; those were the boy's parents.
Bob looks between the boy and his calling parents, something inside him bubbles up and he picked the kid up before deciding it was worth whatever risk came to him and his life. Kicking the door open, the unusually selfless man started sprinting up the stairs as quickly as his legs could carry him before he finally got to the door leading to the roof. Using his entire body to knock the door off its hinges, Bob quickly raced out to the roof where the parents saw him and started yelling out to him.
Looking around the roof, Bob saw that the building was near collapsing from the fire and that both of them were too high to jump off. Knowing what he must do, Bob inhaled before he told the kid, "Alright, kid. Here's what's gonna happen; I can't make it to the building where your parents are, so I'm gonna have to throw you."
"Wait, what about you?!" The kid yelled to him in concern.
"Relax, kid, I'll be fine!" Bob reassured before he reeled the boy to throw. Suddenly, the building shook as the roof started to crack under his feet from the damage done by the fire and the heat was increasing to near unbearable levels.
Bob struggled to regain his footing before he saw the roof was about to collapse from the fire. Acting without thinking, he threw the boy away as the building's roof collapsed around him, his parents grabbing the boy who landed into their arms before they and the crowd all gasped and yelled in horror as they saw Bob fall to his death.
The man did not feel despair or fear in that moment, no fear of dying, nothing. All that filled him was an overwhelming sense of peace. He may die here, but he saved one life that had a chance for a better one than he did. Accepting his fate, he closed his eyes as he felt himself fall to his death.
XXX
1 month later...
In a research facility on the North Cross and Lennox, north of Rever Bay, a place hidden from public view in the guise of an office complex, was several people heavily corrupted by Chaos. It was where several people were experimented on as to discover the source of the rampant mutations that were spreading through the town, doing everything from blood tests and vivisections.
The facility was originally an actual office building that was converted into a research facility for the afflicted, usurping it from the company that owned it via orders from the government and setting up all kinds of cells and containment areas for the people to be sent for examination and experimentation.
One of the residents happened to be Bob.
Bob was currently sleeping on a bed of moss, covered in a blanket made from daemonic leaves and snoring softly as he curled against the garden of small, corrupted grass that he was sleeping against. He was inside a white cell with a plexiglass wall and built-in filters that sucked out all the pathogens and viruses that he was emitting, while a cleanup crew would constantly come in and wash all the gunk he left on the floors. When the tanks were full, they would simply filter them into the incinerator so that the viral cells would be destroyed by the heat before the empty tanks would then be installed back to the cell to suck up whatever airborne contaminates that had been emitted.
A soft mewing caused him to awaken slowly, slowly rising from his bed of moss and shaking himself awake before he got to his feet, brown sludge spilling off him in drips as he walks towards the table that the people of this facility had graciously provided him with that held a plant of his making.
It was a small planet resembling both a yet to be bloomed rose and a rafflesia with small needle-like teeth lining the pedals and faint white fur seen on the green outer layer, the stem covered in thorns. It was then that Bob noticed that the pedals were stuck together with the hardened bile covering its outer layer.
He took a rusty scalpel and slowly started to scrap the grime away, revealing the emerald complexion of the veiny skin of the plant. It cooed and opened its flower revealing needle-like teeth and tendril-like tongues. Seeing that it was hungry, Bob ripped off a seed from his neck and used it to feed the plant that gobbled it up in the instant that it came near its pedals.
Bob let out a delighted chuckle at seeing it happy as he brushed his fingers on their pedals while it leaned against his hand.
His form was completely unrecognizable; his skin green as grass and covered in leathery tissue and blemishes, various parts either decaying or replaced with plant matter, void of cheeks or lips with his teeth thinned and elongated, eyes covered in milk white cataracts, and his hair dry as straw while covered in dust. His head was covered by a tattered cloth hood with several seed-like protrusions piercing the cloth like an anchor, dirt and moss-covered rags and stripes of cloth covering his near skeletal body entirely.
A small ping rang out, signaling that the guards were coming for his daily meeting with the doctor. Bob merely accepted it and waited until the guards opened his cell door, revealing the containment unit that they always had him go in so that he wouldn't infect them.
Bob complied, still in good spirits despite his isolation, but he also sympathized. They didn't know the gifts of the Grandfather, and thus didn't know how much of a blessing these diseases and floral growths were. Regardless, he still wished to take to people so he went along with their interviews and examinations, merely because if they could know his blessings, so too could they be blessed.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened, revealing a white sterile room, Half of the room was separated by a large glass plane, likely 3 inches thick and made of a durable polycarbonate than glass with a silver table and chair on both sides for the interviewer and the interviewee.
The Gardener merely entered the clean and sterile room, bile footprints being left behind as he sat down on the stair, shedding pollen, droplets of bile, and virus cells before folding his hands and quietly awaited the interviewer.
Just two minutes later, the door on the other side opened, revealing his caretaker; one Dr. Corsten. An earnest man, tall and thin, having short-cut hair that was brown but beginning to grey, a lantern jaw, hard blue eyes, frown lines and crow's feet. He was dressed in a typical business suit, black dress jacket over a white dress shirt and red tie, black dress pants, and polished black dressed shoes. It was then that Bob noticed that he had some papers and a file in his hand.
"Hello, doctor!" Bob greeted him in a jovial tone while waving a hand, "How are you today?"
"I'm quite alright, Robert." Dr. Corsten greeted back, "May I call you Robert?"
"It's cool." He waved it off, not minding being called by his full name.
"Very well. The results of your blood tests have just come back." The doctor then adjusted his glasses before he revealed the truth bomb to his patient, "Robert, you have quite literally every single disease known to man, and several thousand more that have just been discovered."
Bob blinked in surprise before he asked, "You mean I have HIV?"
"Yes." The doctor replied with a straight face as he looked through his papers.
"Small-Cell Cancer?"
"Yes."
"Auto-Brewery Syndrome?"
"Yes."
"Hysterical Pregnancy?"
"Um," The doctor looked at his notes for a second before he confirmed, "A little bit, yes."
"I see." Bob noted, cuffing his chin with his corpse-like hand before he asked, "Are you sure you have just made thousands of mistakes?"
"No, Robert, we are very thorough in our work." Dr. Corsten adjusted his glasses before he continued, "However, the reason you are not dead is due to what we have dubbed, 'Three Stooges Syndrome.' Your body is filled with so many ailments and diseases that they somehow cancelling each other out in an attempt to occupy the body they are trying to infect."
The Gardener was more than surprised to hear this but at the same time, not at all. One of the blessings of the Grandfather was the elimination of pain, so that he never senses the pure agony of his slowly rotting body while it was also being converted into plant matter.
"As for your blood cells themselves, you can imagine our surprise when we found that all the iron in your blood was replaced by chlorophyl and that your blood cells now have cell walls like plant cells." The doctor reported as he flipped his papers to where it showed the analysis of his patient's blood cells, "That and a special enzyme has been found that is promoting both cell growth and cell death."
"Like this?" Bob asked as he opened his right hand, the doctor watching in amazement as a bright red rose lined with needle-like spines across the pedals bloomed from his palm.
The doctor then straightened his papers before he asked the heavily mutated teenager, "Robert, if you don't mind, can I ask how you ended up so... mutated?"
Bob blinked, but smiled and decided to humor the doctor, "Alright, doctor. It all started when I fell off that building. I understandably assumed I was going to die after hitting the ground, but you can imagine my surprise when I awoke to find myself very much alive."
Dr. Corsten raised an eyebrow before bluntly saying, "Robert, you look like a rotting corpse fused with plant matter that's covered in filthy shawls."
"I know." Bob laughed in good humor, "Anyway, when I awoke, I found myself in a massive pool of what I assume is waste and chemicals. My clothes were in ruin and my flesh was as you see it now, so I grabbed some rags and used them to cover myself so that I couldn't be seen. After that whole mess was over, I took my chances in the sewers. And as you remember, the police found me taking refuge in the town's flower shop."
The doctor merely hummed and wrote something down before he asked, "And how are you feeling with the fact that you are a fusion of a corpse and a plant?"
"What is the response of living men to the undeniable and inevitable futility of life?" Bob asked the doctor, who raised a surprised eyebrow, "Is it to lie down and accept death and the coming of naught of their every endeavour? No, it is not! Faced with the inevitability of death, what answer can there be but to run through life at a great and unstoppable pace, cramming each day with hope, laughter, noise and bustle. Thus, happiness and human endeavor are sired by a coming to terms with decay and futility. This realization is the key to understanding the Great Lord of Decay and his worshippers."
"I see..." Dr. Corsten murmured as he wrote that down before he replied, "Robert, I'd like to transfer you to a different cell for an hour or two. Is that acceptable?"
"That's cool." Bob waved off cheerfully, happily standing up as the crew opened the door and showed him to his mobile containment cell. The Gardener walked in and sat down as they closed it before wheeling him off to wherever they were taking him. Soon they stopped and he heard the sounds of a door opening.
"Robert, if you could, please enter this containment cell." Dr. Corsten's voice directed him as the mobile unit's door opened to reveal a windowless cell that housed a bed and chair only, both covered in plastic, and a single light hanging from the light grey painted ceiling, "This is only a temporary measure as to keep your visitors safe from the toxins and viruses that you are emitting."
Bob shrugged before he doubletakes, "What did you say about 'visitors?'"
"The family of the child you saved wants to visit you. As do your parents." The doctor explained to him, "I doubt that they will want to see you like this, Robert."
The Gardener frowned, a rare sight for a follower of Nurgle, but accepted it as he remembered how the soldiers that captured him reacted when they first saw him emerging from the foliage in the shop. He quickly got over it and smiled before entering the cell and plopping onto the bed, the plastic covering crackling at his motions as the doors closed and mechanical sounds were heard before a clank! rang out, indicating that it was locked.
Bob walked, for what he counted, an hour before something came to his attention.
Despite him being behind an isolated room, Bob could still see and hear whoever was behind the walls of his room; it was Doctor Corsten and the family of the child he saved those two months ago, the mother holding the child in her arms and the father by her side, both listening to the doctor as he explained the situation. He could see because there was a small ladybug crawling on the wall near the intercom.
"We are keeping him behind this isolated room as he requested." The doctor lied for Bob, "Though he survived, the fire inflicted 3rd and 4th degree burns on 75% of his body. We have managed to repair him via antibiotics and skin grafts, but he's still recovering. Thankfully, he's stable and awake. If you want, you can talk to him via this intercom." He motioned to the microphone and speaker near the door.
"Robert. Robert Aimes." Bob spoke, "But you can call me Bob."
"Bob..." The mother asked, "How are you? The doctor said that you suffered from 3rd and 4th degree burns from the fire."
"Oh, I'm fine. Still hurts a little, but I'm okay." Bob lied so that she'd feel better, "How's uh.. Harry?"
"Harry's okay." She smiled at her son, who giggled as his dad patted him on the head, "He has been ever since the fire. He never stops talking out you."
"Heh, cool." Bob laughed, "Anything else?"
"You..." The mother teared up as she spoke again, "You saved our son. Thanks to you, our little Harry is still with us. We still get to have our little boy. I-I don't how to thank you..."
Bob's blackened and moss-covered lips curled into a genuine smile, "You don't need to thank me at all."
The mother choked back a sob before the father spoke, "Yes, we do. You saved the one thing that made our lives so much brighter. If Harry died in that fire..." He teared up like his wife and choked out his next words, "I don't think I or my wife could go on."
"Mama?" Harry asked his mother, who turned to him as did his father, "Can I talk to him?"
His mother smiled brightly, "Sure, sweetie." She let him lean to the microphone while his father still held the button.
"Thank you, mister." The boy spoke his thanks to Bob.
Bob's smile nearly split his face as he spoke back, "It was nothing, kid. Have a good life."
The family smiled and left, happy that the man that saved their youngest was alive and well (in a way at least). Bob let out a joyous laugh when they were gone, happy that they were happy. But next, came his parents. He breathed in clean sterile air and breathed out several million bacteria cells and chemical agents that could kill a man with one breath and was vented into the tanks as he waited for his parents to come.
An hour passed before his parents came in, for whatever reason he didn't know and didn't mind, both of them having both scared and anxious expressions as they approached the cell that held him.
"He requested to be in this room." The doctor lied again, "Though he survived, the fire inflicted 3rd and 4th degree burns on 75% of his body. Thankfully, we have managed to keep him stable via antibiotics and skin grafts, but he's still recovering. He's stable and awake for now and if you want, you can talk to him via this intercom." He motioned to the microphone and speaker near the door.
His father swallowed his fear and pressed the button to activate the intercom, "B-Bob, are you there?"
For once, Bob himself seemed a little scared but managed to push through and pushed the button, "Yeah, I'm here, dad."
Before Thomas could continue, Laura grabbed the mike and slammed her hand on the button, "ROBERT FRANKLIN AIMES, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! That family told us about how you ran into that burning building and how you saved their kid! We were scared out of our minds when they found you under the rumble of the building! How could you do this to-!"
"Laura! LAURA!" Thomas yelled while shaking her out of her fit, causing her to stop and turn to him, "It's fine. He's okay. Just calm down."
Laura hyperventilated for a second but calmed down, before burying her face into the chest of her husband and sobbing her eyes out. Thomas merely rubbed her head as he pressed the button again, "Bob, how could you scare us like that? Your mother and I were in ruins when they told us about you being buried under the rubble. How did you survive?"
"Who said I did?" Bob said under his breath before he replied to his father, "I don't know. It was like a thick cloud in my head that left when they got me out. The doctor's said that I was insanely lucky to be alive, but... they're not sure if I can leave for the next few months. Something about 'compromised skin tissue', I don't remember."
His mother merely peeked out from her husband's chest, eyes red with tears trailing her cheeks, "Bob, I know your father and I fight a lot but... you were the only thing that kept us together all these years. I just want you to know that... we love you..." Laura couldn't keep it together and buried herself in her husband's chest, sobbing hysterically as Thomas embraced her.
Thomas looked to where he hoped Bob was staring back and whispered out with teary eyes, "We love you, Bob..."
Bob looked down with a slight melancholy expression before he answered, "I love you both too. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. The doctors are doing everything they can."
His parents wipe their eyes before his father replied, "See you soon, Bob. We hope you get better." With that, Dr. Corsten led them away, leaving the saddened Gardener alone in his cell.
XXX
2 months later...
The town of Rever Bay fell into ruin, swiftly as cults and gangs began forming and growing. The straw that broke the dam was when some Khornate cult grew too bold and attacked in the daytime. As a result, all hell broke loose when all the cults attacked each other nonstop, all fusing into an orgy of slaughter and violence. The National Guard was quickly called to keep the insane residents of Rever Bay at bay, constantly having to get new guards due to the high casualty rates.
Something snapped in the town as it was a massive cacophony of screams of pleasure and agony, roars of gunshots and engines, blasts of daemonic sorcery flaring out in maddening patterns of death.
The Gardener was one of them; having broken out of the facility after using one of the orderlies as a decoy before he escaped through the sewers after getting his plants. After what he assumed was a few hours of wading through the sewers, Bob finally emerged from a manhole in the middle of town to find the ongoing chaos and promptly fled to where the other Nurglite cults were.
However, after 2 days, several forces of Malice attacked and were wiping them out, their shadows somehow acting as armor against them and the fact that they also brought White Phosphorus, nearly incinerating several of them and tearing through them like they were little more than shambling corpses. Even fighting back was hard as the flames were burning away whatever plants or spores that they unleashed.
That didn't mean they didn't fight back.
Bob lashed out several thorny vines that impaled ten in the chest and heads, before throwing another at several others after burrowing an explosive seed into the chest of the cultist, causing the cultists to explode into a massive pyre of explosive chemicals. However, a tendril of shadow wrapped around Bob's arm and then pulled so hard that his arm off.
Bob merely grunted as the Lasombra ripped his left arm off, still immune to pain before lashing his hand out as hundreds of seeds shot out, killing three of them and crippling two, but his assault was cut short when Debra sucker-punched him and sent his broken body skidding across the street where the Malicites dominated.
It was then that he blinked in surprise as he supported himself with his arms; the woman standing before him was Debra, albeit with punkish hair, black eyeliner and black lipstick, and clothes made of shadows. Her pale skin was covered in gothic tattoos from her neck to her wrists and ankles, her eyes had become pitch black, and her nails were sharpened and black.
"Hmph, you tried little boy." Debra scoffs off his efforts, motioning to the others before they moved out to slaughter the rest of the inhabitants of the town.
Bob looked on in dismay as the forces of Malice slowly advanced to the section where the Children of Nurgle played, intending to kill them all and burn it down in black fire. Was this how it would end? His former friends killing those he cared for?
No.
He wouldn't let them do this. Not to those that he loved. He had to do something.
Using his right hand to dig into a pocket that he had on his right side, Bob pulled out a filthy emerald babble shaped bottle filled with a glowing green concoction that he had stashed away. It was a gift from Scarecrow. He knew what the concoction would do, and he didn't want to use it. But if using it mean that he would be able to protect his fellow children of Nurgle, so be it.
After popping the cork off with his teeth and spitting it out, Bob downed the glowing green concoction in a mere instant.
(Bloodbourne OST- Cleric Beast Theme)
As the liquid burned down his throat and into his diaphragm, all the viruses in his body went into overdrive before a green and brown bile began pouring out of his wounds and skin, hardening into chitin and fusing his tatters clothes with his flesh in a fusion of a green carapace and black hairy flesh. Bile spilled from every orifice on his face as it melted away before his skull split in twain and fell two, revealing a bulbous slime covered head that resembled a fly with glowing red compound eyes and a maggot-like maw of fangs akin to a sphincter with white greenish slime flowing freely as it suppurated.
Debra sighed in annoyance turning to the screaming Nurglite, "Oh, by the black will of Malice, will you-" Her words died in her mouth as she saw the transforming creature before her.
Black ichor filled blisters and boils formed over his back before they burst, reforming into pulsing vine-like tentacles that lashed and writhed in the air. Oily, bug-like appendages ripped out of various parts of his body before fusing back to the carapace to support the increasing muscle-mass. From the stub where his left arm was, oily tentacles sprouted and coiled together, reforming into a limb as muscle, chitin, and hide formed and took the shape of a massive three-pronged pincher as his right arm was slowly covered by fur and chitin before fusing into a three-pronged pincher.
His legs bent backwards as the bones were broken and remade as the skin fell away and chitin and hide came in as they grew alongside the rest of the growing monster. The sound of hardening came as the transformation slowly finished and the Gardener was remade into a beast of the Plaguefather.
Bob was dead and the Lord of Flies took his place.
It was a fifteen-foot-tall fusion of humanoid and fly, coated in a carapace of dark emerald chitin and black hairy hide, twin red bulbous compound eyes and a suppurating fanged mouth, massive pulsing and vine-like thorny tentacles in place of wings. His chest seemed to be separated into a three-part mouth lined with fangs that hid a massive yellow eye, spikes lining the edge of each plate, black and green powder appearing on various hidden scales, and various spiked lumps hidden in the dark hide.
The Lord of Flies roared out as a thick green, black mist of powder was released from every ounce of his body and sent flying at the Debra's army. Several couldn't react in time as the powder mist reached them, choking on their own blood as it spilled from every orifice before they died. Others were luckier as they covered themselves in both darkness and armor to protect themselves from the poison mist storm.
When it subsided, they uncovered themselves only to see the Lord of Flies crying out as it steamrolled through the followers of Malice, either crushing them from the sheer weight of his body, slashing them apart with his tentacles, or causing them to die choking on their own blood from the poison powder that got to them after it was shed from his body and touched them.
Debra, surprised but her will not wavering, merely summoned her shadows that wrapped around her like a shawl before hardening into a jagged black and white armor with a black halberd.
She launched herself at the Lord of Flies, halberd meeting pincher in a loud clang before his oily tentacles lashed at her shadow armor, barely piercing it before she slugged him in the mouth. The monster was thrown back with several tentacles ripped off, only for them to grow back before he spat out a massive wad of glowing green material that impacted her torso.
Her shadowy armor began melting from the sheer potency of the acid, that she ripped herself out of before she warped away into the shadows as another wad of acid spatted over where she was just a second ago. Debra reappeared in on the roof of a nearby building, seeing the Lord of Flies land on the street below her and roar as her soldiers started attacking him with guns, blades, and cannon fire.
Suddenly, his throat bulged like something came from his stomach. The suppurating maw of teeth parted to reveal a massive clump of flesh that spewed from his throat. A sound of disgust came from Debra before the clump unfurled into a swarm of dog sized creatures that resembled fusions of flies and mantises that immediately began to chow down in her army.
"Hmm..." Debra hummed as the shadows formed around her unclothed form, acting as a cloak of darkness, "Let's see what happens."
A tankshot ripped through the Lord of Flies' shoulder, causing it to cry out before his wounds began to knit together and its carapace repaired, much to the horror of Debra's army. The Lord of Flies then sprayed them all with a white mess of silk that immediately began melting through their uniforms and flesh, the men dying a screaming demise before a probiscis shot from its mouth and began slurping up the remains as well as his spawn that fed off the liquified organs and bones.
The Lord of Flies suddenly snapped towards where Debra was standing and roared. The Lasombra merely gave a smirk before her shadows shot towards him in the form of piercing tendrils but was quite surprised when the Lord of Flies grabbed them and tore them apart. The massive monstrosity then roared and charged at her, causing her to disappear into the shadows as he crushed the building she was standing on.
He looked around but Debra didn't reappear no matter where he looked, and his daemonic senses picked up nothing. Assuming she fled, The Lord of Flies turned to the remaining forces of Malice marching to the gardens and began sprinting towards the garden in a desperate attempt to save his friends.
Whatever was left of the forces of Malice all turned when they heard a bellowing roar, seeing the Lord of Flies rocking towards them as his tentacles speared towards them. The front lines were pierced by the tentacles before the poison powder from the Lord of Flies shooting by at blinding speeds causing them to choke on their own blood, before the various lumps on his skin bulged and exploded, revealing seed-like projectiles that started flying towards the other followers of Malice, exploding on contact and reducing them to pulp before they could even blink.
The three champions of Malice turned to see the Lord of Flies coming towards them and only expressed indifference before they raised their blades to kill him. A flurry of explosive seeds ripped out of his skin, spearing towards them before they destroyed several with their blades, though a few lucky one impacted their armor and cracked the plates. Two of them flew towards the Lord of Flies, slashing against his legs only for their blades to get stuck in his flesh before he kicked one away and reduced another to paste with a fist.
The leading champion didn't react, even as the one that was kicked away splattered against the wall near him and the body falling to the ground ungracefully. Without even a blink, the final champion stepped forward as the shadows coiled around him, forming into a massive form of armor with a large maul and shield, wings, and numerous spikes dotting him.
A silence permeated the field where the Warrior of Malice and the Lord of Flies stared each other down, the former remaining silent and the latter softly growling with a reverberating buzz.
Then they charged. A chitin covered fist met a shield of pure shadow, sending both back before the Lord of Flies unleashed a spray of acid at the Warrior of Malice, who blocked the acid with his shield and then cracked his maul over the monster's head, sending him back and skidding across the street, crashing into several abandoned cars. The Lord of Flies shook the metal debris off of him before wiping the slight blood that he coughed up off his mouth, standing up and launching his poison mist at the Warrior with a deafening screech.
The Warrior merely jumped as the mist crashed the wall behind him before swam diving at the Lord of Flies, who blocked a downward strike from the former's maul and slugging the Lasombra across the face. The Warrior responded by bashing his shield into the fly monster's face before tackling him to the ground, raising his maul into the air but something caused him to pause.
His chest opened to reveal the massive eye to the transformed Warrior of Malice. Suddenly, streams of green swirled around in front of the eye, combining into a large orb of green that grew to the size of a large dog. The Warrior slowly backed away in both caution and curiosity before the Lord of Flies roared and launched the orb at the former. The projectile speared toward the Warrior who strafed out of the way, only for it to impact the ground near him.
The Orb exploded in a mushroom cloud of light glowing green fire and smoke before either could react in time, a deafening boom rocking the town as the green miasma traveled through the streets, rusting and dissolving whatever it touched before more miasmas came from their melted remains. The Warrior of Malice could barely withstand the sheer corrosive potency of the miasma before he heard a deep, buzzing and reverberating voice coming from somewhere.
"Can't zzztand it can you?" The Lord of Flies spoke tauntingly, "Itzzzz made of a zzzzpecial compound only from Nurgle'zzzz cauldron. You won't die immediately, juzzzt azzz long azzz it takezzz to bleed into you."
The last one's resistance finally caved as he collapsed onto the ground. It roared and squealed before its armor dissolved into rust and its flesh melted into slurry, ending the Warrior of Malice's miserable existence.
(Music Ends)
The Lord of Flies mere growled as he was enveloped by green-black mist that faded away to reveal Bob back in his form as the Gardener while the miasma slowly subsided, burning away into the fires that littered the town. He stared out into the ruins of Rever Bay, thinking out previous times when the Gods never came into their lives. He didn't know what became of his parents, whether they had escaped Rever Bay, joined the cults, or were killed. But deep down, he knew that he would never see them again.
As he stared on, the Gardener turned to see Debra rising from the shadows, her form concealed by a dress of shadows that writhed and flowed like liquid.
"Hmph. You did good, fly-boy." Debra sneered out, "I'll see you around. The Warmaster will be expecting new recruits."
With a flash of shadows, she disappeared, leaving a distraught Bob to reflect on what he had done. He merely scowled and spat at the spot where she warped away, the wad of emerald saliva eating through the pavement with steam rising up.
Debra: Emo Turned Destroyer
Debra's eyes shot open when the fresh memory of the car crash rang through her head, causing her to catapult from her laying state with a yelp, putting a hand to her heart as it threatened to jump out of her chest. Another sight caused her expression to slacken when she saw that she was back in her room, barely anything having changed from when she came back.
"What the hell?" Debra whispered before she controlled herself, sitting up and looking around with an anxious expression. Shaking off the crash as just a dream, the angsty teenager got up from her bed and got dressed, knowing that it was a weekend but not caring. Entering the living room, she saw that it was void of her mother and brothers as usual before walking to the kitchen and grabbing a drink.
Cracking the can open, Debra sat back on the couch before turning the TV on. But what came on, shocked her to her core.
The TV showed several videos from the mines, dragging out tractors and vehicles with their occupants fused with the interior, red hot rocks, and an iridescent aura of light. Several shots showed the crystals that he had uncovered being wheeled away into trucks.
"Breaking News!" A female reporter came on the news, shuffling her papers while the scenes from the mine was shown on the side, "A massive explosion in Rever Bay gold mine rocked the small fishing town last night, resulting in the deaths and injuries of several miners. Out in the mine is our very own, Max Dorsey. Max?"
"Thank you, Tamara." Max Dorsey replied as he motioned to the destroyed mine behind him, "A grisly scene hit Rever Bay's gold mine last night as a massive explosion rocked the mine, killing several workers and disfiguring and injuring several more. The source of the explosion and any signs of the explosion being manmade has yet to be identified. The mine has been cordoned off from the public as government radiation workers are being called in to investigate the mine for signs of lethal radiation. A statement regarding the statis of the mine will be released following the investigation."
Debra's eyes were wide and her mouth agape, looking on at the TV before she began to chug her can down. The buzz was barely enough to keep her calm despite the cold sweetness and bitterness, her mind racing on what just happened while she and the others were asleep, before she just shut it out, so she didn't have to think about it.
Still, one question kept egging her on; what the hell happens now?
XXX
4 days later...
School was odd when it restarted, like another stack of misery, but still it was better than just lazing around like her mother even if her main hobby was to draw her thoughts. The things she did while in school was her only outlets for her frustrations without getting in trouble from her mother, even if it was just drawing like she normally did at home.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she left Ms. Morris' class, with Mark and Matt finally talking to each other after three years of falling out, Bob being somewhat nice to talk to, Tommy managing to be somewhat tolerable in his obsession with the ocean, Rachel being gone, and Mr. Irons' annoying ass in prison. Though she did feel bad for Ian when she heard what happened.
Regardless, she still had her own life to worry about.
Shaking her head, Debra reached her locker and got it open, putting her science books in and extracting her English books for her English class. Closing her locker and walking off, the emo teenager got to her class in the backrow, barely paying attention to the things around her with the other students merely talking to each other or playing on their phones as she opened her notebook and started drawing, waiting for the teacher to get in.
After 3 minutes, Debra looked up from her drawing of a skeletal demon, seeing that Mr. Serra entered the room and set his things down. With a sigh, she closed her notebook as she put her head in her hand and pretended to pay attention to whatever the English teacher had to say.
"Morning class!" Mr. Serra announces to the students, opening his notes, "Today, we'll be learning about grammar! Now I'm going to-" At that point, Debra toned him out as her mind went on autopilot for the rest of class, wishing that she could beat him up and burn the whole school down. But she can't do that, much to her dismay, so she could only grin and bear it.
The time he said, "Class Dismissed!" was when her mind went off autopilot before she packed up and left for the other class. It was her history class, a somewhat bearable time as she was fascinated by human history.
Same routine: go to her locker, take out her history books, place her English books back in, close it, and go to class. She sat down in the desk that was almost in the middle and resumed her drawings before the teacher came in.
Two minutes later, the teacher came in: Mr. Decken, a potbellied middle-aged man with greying brown hair, dressed in a white dress shirt under a brown dress jacket, blue dress pants, and black dress shoes. As the students prepped themselves, the teacher brought his stuff to his desk before writing on the board and talking to the students, "Good morning, students. Today's lesson is about the Crusades. Please turn to page 145 of your textbooks."
The students opened their books and listens in as Mr. Decken began speaking of the Crusades. Something about the Crusades fascinated her, the idea of religious warriors killing each other over nothing more than the scriptures of their so-called God. Lives lost in a religious veil, lands stained in the blood of thousands, and their actions echoing through the centuries.
It fascinated her that anyone would be so filled with fervor enough to simply die for the teachings of something that they never read to deeply into. What would drive someone to dive headlong into Death's scythe for a God that they never knew even existed? What would cause someone to declare innocent people to be 'Heretics' so they wouldn't feel guilt for burning them alive? What she wouldn't give to experience that feeling.
So immersed was she that only when Mr. Decken said, "Alright, class; your homework for today is to write what you'd do if you were a warrior in the Crusades. Class Dismissed." that she snapped out of her thoughts and caused her to close her textbook when the other students left the classroom to go to lunch.
After history class finished and lunch, the latter consist of bland chick strips and fries with some fruits and veggies, Debra decided to just stay outside by the entrance of the school while everyone else went outside to get some air. Debra meanwhile just sat by the door and opened her notebook, continuing to draw to her heart's desire.
A while later, the emo turned to see that something was lurking in the shadows, shaped vaguely humanoid and swirling with liquid blackness, with only twin beady white eyes staring down at her with an emotion that she couldn't tell.
Debra blinked and suddenly it was gone. She blinked again and rubbed her eyes before seeing that it was gone. She looked around a few more times before shaking it off and returning to her drawings.
XXX
3 days later...
Debra still just kept drawing even when she was back home, her mother too drunk to yell and beat her, her older brothers merely going out for their jobs and her younger brother, Jack, staying behind to keep her company. Though she liked him, there was a part of her that was a little upset as while he was her age, Jack wasn't one that shared her interests.
Jack preferred writing on his computer inside of drawing, and while she admitted his stories were good, it just didn't mix with her. Though they did share a love for Heavy Metal magazines, music, and comics, it inspired a lot of her drawings and his stories. But her older brothers were far different; they weren't miserable with their lives for some reason, they used their dear mother's disability checks to help keep the rent instead of what she normally uses them for.
However, something compelled her to go outside, like a pull in the back of her head.
"Hey, Jack." She called out to her little brother who was reading a PlayBoy magazine and turned to her, "I'm gonna go outside for a minute. Will you be okay?"
Jack nodded, "I've been alone before. I'll be fine."
Debra smiled at her brother and left their apartment, going down the stairwell and exited to the streets where she saw someone walking down the street. A familiar someone.
"Oh, hey Deb." Tommy waved to her, "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I live in this apartment building." Debra pointed behind her with her thumb, "What are you doing here?"
"Nothing. Just going to the grocery store nearest to my house." Tommy pointed to the store just across the street from her apartment building, before he turned to her and gained a questioning expression, "Off topic, Deb, but have you been seeing strange things?"
Debra looked around to confirm that they were the only ones around except for a few hobos before she walked up next to him and said, "Define strange."
"Like you're seeing things that aren't there, feeling things that you can't explain, hearing voices in the back of your head. Stuff like that ring a bell?" Tommy went into detail as he unconsciously rubbed the back of his head.
The emo girl had a stunned look on her face before she explained, "Yeah, that's spot on. I've been ignoring it for the most part, but it always feels like something is... scratching at the back of my head. You have that feeling too?"
"Always." Tommy replied, "I talked to Mark and Matt, but they seemed to be okay for the most part. Bob just said that it was like he was sick, Rachel hasn't come to school, and I haven't seen her in a while, Irons was obviously arrested, and when I went to visit Ian, I could barely make heads or tails of what he was saying! I mean, I know drugs can mess someone up royally, but my dad said that there was no way drugs could do... that to him."
"Jeez..." Debra was left speechless, unable to imagine what Ian was going through, before she asked, "Is there anything they can do for him?"
"Ya heard what happened to Ian?" Tommy asked before he answered at seeing Debra shake her head in confusion, "Apparently, the doctors are gonna move to a state hospital for study into his current state. They're saying that they've never seen a case as bad as his before. I don't know what's going on with him but it's not looking good."
"Fuck, dude." Debra muttered in sympathy before she retracted back into her mask, nothing wanting to show much of herself to others, "But, what can you do?" She muttered out, fainting dismissal, something that made Tommy frowned.
"Oh, here we go." Tommy muttered in annoyance, "Back with the bitchy attitude. You know being an asshole isn't a good way to go through live."
Not seeing her brothers' car driving up to the apartment and getting out, Debra scoffed, "Whatever. Being a bitch or an asshole is all I know."
"Yeah, here's a little bit of knowledge for ya." Tommy retorts, not noticing or caring that her brothers had stopped and looked at him, wondering what was going on with him, "You keep being an asshole, here's your future; you wake up at the age of forty, get dressed, leave early in the morning, go to the Dollar Store, open up shop with a breakfast from either McDonalds or Burger King, spend eight or ten life draining hours in a place you hate but can't quit from because there's no other jobs you can get, aiding people that don't respect you or treat you like shit, before your shift ends and you go home to the apartment you can barely afford, crack open a cold one and sit in front of the TV to watch sitcoms to make yourself feel better all while wondering how it went wrong."
Deb was silent at his rant before Tommy didn't let up.
"Or here's the alternative to being an asshole." Tommy continued, "You wake up in the expensive house that you earned through your hard work, getting dressed in your best suit or dress, gather all the evidence for your client's trial, going to the courthouse and telling him to let you do all the talking, before then managing to convince the judge that your client isn't guilty, whether he's actually guilty or not doesn't matter so long as you get paid, seeing the family who's youngest son got killed in the hit and run while your client was drunk go crying back home after looking at you with scorn, then returning to your apartment, cracking open some champagne, raising a glass to another case being won ...and then you wonder, after all your hard work, after all your years at college, after all the cases you won, after all the mollah you got from it, and after getting everything you've ever wanted, why you're still miserable?"
Debra couldn't even speak after that, opening and closing her mouth in random intervals.
"Look, I'm not saying that being an asshole is easy, but in the long run, you'll still be miserable even when you're successful." Tommy replied, trying to push through the mask she made all these years now, "We all got our problems, but we can't let those problems consume us when they're trials meant to help us be better. We need to be better than the environments that we grew up in, no matter where. Just food for thought." He then turned away, waving to her, "Anyway, see ya, Dad's making steaks."
With that Tommy left, leaving Debra to stand near the entrance in shock until her eldest brother touched her on the shoulder, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin before she turned to him. Drake had a similar expression to Tommy, "You know... he has a point. You can't go through live pushing everyone away like this. You need to let people in if you want to be loved. You understand?"
Debra looked down, subtlety nodding causing him to smile as he patted her on the back, "Good. Now, let's get inside. the boys and I managed to scrouge enough spare money from this month's rent payments for some McDonalds. You hungry?"
She nodded with a smile as they walked up the stairwells, "Starving."
XXX
3 weeks later...
The last three weeks was where Debra started to become worried at the state of the town; there were sightings of freaks in the forest, people going missing, bodies being found in the sewers, seemingly normal people becoming serial killers and fanatics, and there being satanic rituals in the forest. Debra felt both scared and elated at the events; scared of the increasing violence and elated at the thought of being able to join in herself.
A plan then formed in her head as her mother and brothers slept, wanting to go out and be the thing she most desired, a monster. As she wrote her note to her brothers, though, Debra turned to her brothers sleeping in the living room with blankets over them, a fond smile crossing her face.
Drake: always taking the reins when their mother didn't, working two jobs to provide when mother was busy on the couch being drunk and lazy. The man was a saint, he worked those two jobs, put up with mom's crap, and still made enough time for her and her brothers.
Eric: worked two jobs like Drake, usually cooked diner if he had enough to buy groceries, made the time if Drake couldn't, and was often the one who put mom to bed when she was passed out from her days of nonstop drinking.
Albert: worked as a grocer in the supermarket across the street, paid the mortgage and rent, taking care of the single van that they had to drop the former two off for their jobs before he got back to his job across the street.
Jack: he and Debra were practically househusband and housewife, cleaning the apartment until the older brothers got back home, dragging their mother from the bar back home when she was too drunk to drive on her own.
She left her note on the counter before kissing her four brothers on the head in thanks for being there for her. With that done, Debra left her apartment, hoping to let the truth of herself free.
Debra slowly closed the door and let out a breath of trepidation, slowly walking down to the bottom floor while the sounds of something began stirring in her ears, like a lure of a grandeur beast of some lost Lenore. Burning dread and destructive desire blooming in her blackening heart, feeling the black tendrils of some dark god of anarchy coming to her desire to see the world burn.
The footfalls from her barely rang out near the entirety of her journey towards the dark reaches of the place that drew her nearby. A false feeling that called to her in a forest that seemed to be composed of blackened wood and leaves that devoured the fleeting light of the lamps and cautious cars that drove as silently as possible as to not draw the attention of the things lest they hear them and prey on their flesh and souls.
Whether out of mind-numbing stupidity or irresistible curiosity, Debra merely walked onto the forest.
Sounds and shapes in the dark slithered in and out of her line of sight and hearing, blackness burning into her head as she advanced to the ceremony grand in the dark abyss that she was wandering in. Her footfalls became splashes of liquid with the foul smell of iron rose to her nose, more coming at her side, the faint sounds of inhaling and exhaling from multiple people surrounding her.
Suddenly, it was as if her eyes somehow adjusted to the darkness, and she found herself in an open expanse where the trees parted and all that stood was a silver bejeweled chalice filled with what she could only describe as a liquid blackness swimming and spiraling. Then a figure emerged from the cloaking shadows as crept towards her in a posture that was too graceful to be human.
It was a woman cloaked in darkness with pale skin and long chest length hair black as the night sky, she turned and grasped the black hood, revealing her face for her to see. She was attractive but not head turning as the supermodels Jack showed her in his PlayBoy magazines, but something more akin to a woman frozen in time, but her black void-like eyes and fangs told a story of nocturnal existence.
"Hello, Debra." She spoke, her voice inducing a feeling of swimming in black water, "I am Nara, high-priestess of the Lasombra; the Children of Malice. We will burn this world into ashes and let humanity indulge in its true nature. Join us. Be one with the dark and be free from the light."
Debra looked down and only pondered for a moment before her answer came to light.
"I accept."
Nara grinned before she dug her fangs into Debra's neck, causing a cry that turned to a moan when the former began drinking the latter's blood. She leaned against the feeder as she was drained more and more, her eyes fluttering closed, her frame growing leaner, her heart growing still before Nara released her, letting the girl fall into her arms.
Then, she raised her wrist to her mouth, biting into it and ripping it open, letting droplets of vitae fall into her mouth. Debra unconsciously swallows the dark blood and the world seemed to fade away into blackness.
XXX
In the darkness where she slept, Debra felt something inside her change; her organs began to rot and slowly fester, dissolving into vitae. Shadows, like an extension of her will, coiled around her like a cocoon. Her soul contained in her body frozen in time but raised beyond what one could ever be called human. There was no more rot of humanity left inside her that would bind her to the tethers of the world.
But that was paltry compared to the chant that filled her head.
"Take the rot, to make it flesh."
"Take the skull, the soul to rest."
"Take their mind and give them peace."
"Take their will. Sensations cease."
"We shall deny Nurgle their flesh to fester and rot."
"We shall deny Khorne their blood and skulls."
"We shall deny Tzeentch their destinies and fates."
"We shall deny Slaanesh their pleasure and pain."
"Death to the Dark Gods!"
"For the Renegade God!"
"Let the galaxy burn!"
"To the Skin, Ice."
"To the Rot, Fire."
"To the Skull, Steel."
"To the Mind, Night."
"We are the flames that scorch the garden of rot."
"We are the waves that erode the mountain of skulls."
"We are the quakes that shatter the labyrinth of lies."
"We are the storms that rend the palace of perfection."
"We are Malice."
Debra's eyes slowly open, feeling her now cold flesh and her heart still. A groan escaped her lips as she rose from the cold ground, finding herself unclothed with her hair cut down to a pixie cut, her body now covered in dark markings and daemonic run script, her nails darkened and sharp.
She raised a hand and the shadows suddenly stretched and tensed. A shocked stare crossing her face as she looked at her hand before she curled it into a fist, the shadows roiled at the sudden motion.
Standing up, Debra outstretched a hand to the dark reaches of the space that she currently occupied, feeling the shadows ebb and flow at her command. With but a thought and a motion of her hand, the shadows flowed over to her like liquid blackness before crawling upon her body and wrapping around her like a shawl.
"Congratulations, Debra." Her sire comforted her as the latter turned to her, coming out of the darkness with her arms crossed, "You are now one of the Lasombra."
The smile that came on her face was beyond the words of madness, even as she was brought the body of a scared and horrified boy. He only had a chance to scream before she dug her fangs into him with a rabid screech.
XXX
Unknown time later in a place composed of nightmares...
The sire took her into the black empire of Malice, a place made of the empires joined to the worship of the Renegade God; a haphazard combination of the Roman, German, Babylonian, Japanese, and various others she didn't recognize all somehow joined to a single force to spread their black god's power.
As for her, for an odd reason, Debra now longer felt any shame in being entirely unclothed even in the presence of others. Regardless, she used shadows to create clothing and armor to hide her modesty, liking their feel on her cold skin more than regular clothing, doing so in the presence of those she does not know. There were no nightmares for they were in the blood not in the mind.
There was no sun to burn their cold flesh for they were near the one place in the Warp that even grand hordes of Chaos feared: The Abyss.
The Abyss is where the darkest thoughts in all existence have coalesced, every dark fantasy from disgruntled workers, every burning desire from those that keep their thoughts hidden by a mask, every single dark thought and feeling ever birthed from the minds of all sentient life all churning and roiling into a black chasm the size of a red giant infested with unnamable things made from the dark. It is the yawning chasm from beyond the confines of mortal sentience; the darkness made of the black thoughts of every lifeform ever born.
Such was her shock at, when showing her to a vast expanse in a part of the courtyards, Nara presented her with a silver bejeweled chalice same as the one she first saw in the forest, filled with what she could only describe as 'liquid blackness', swirling and reforming.
"The Renegade God is born from destruction, all destruction. Even the destruction of our souls should we not sacrifice in his name." Nara explained as she handed Debra the chalice filled with blackness, "Such was our luck when we discovered that the black essence of the Abyss slaked Malice's hunger for our souls. Drink and be free of the Renegade God's curse."
With no hesitation, Debra leaned her head back and drank deeply from its well of blackness, feeling it flow down her diaphragm and into her stomach. It burned inside her and boiled her torso, coursing through her heart and her veins, corrupting everything material and immaterial of her.
She let out a gasp and nearly fell if it was not for Nara helping her up, almost dropping the empty chalice as her sire comforted her, "Potent, isn't it? In order to sure that we are not overwhelmed by its power, the Undivided's alchemists have to distill it. It still provides quite the kick when you first drink it."
After a few moments, Debra seemingly recovered enough to see that one corridor was filled with rows of armored guards, though oddly they seemed to be devoid of any wearer but were filled with blackness. As Nara took her hand and led her to the council, the former noticed the latter staring at the Black Army and decided to indulge her childe's curiosity.
"They are merely shadows of souls stuffed into the iron shells. Not thinking or feeling in the service of the God of Anarchy." Nara explained as she and Debra ascended the stairs, the wind flowing into the chambers and fluttered the black cloaks they wore for ceremony grand, "Even in death, they are of some use."
Debra took one last look before she shook it off, deciding not to think of it too much. Her and her sire soon came to a black throne where the latter sat down on, her cloak shifting to a loose dress while Debra's cloak became something a harem girl from India would wear.
"It's amazing what one can feel when they embrace the darkness." Debra cooed as she stirred a pool of liquid darkness with her finger before coiling next to her sire like a lover, "Its only when one embraces their inner evil that they truly feel free and without restraint."
Her sire chuckled and reached her hand out to the chalice filled with liquid shadows to the floor. Suddenly, it coiled and swirled upwards, forming to a mirror of sorts, before it took the shape of a face, one Nara was acquainted with.
Abaddon the Despoiler.
"Abaddon, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Nara started, drinking from her chalice again.
"Nara, we have conquered another universe." Abaddon replied, "We are collecting resources to strengthen Chaos' vast armies."
"And what of the Dark Master and Queen of Daemons? Is they impressed at the fact that it took you a single week to conquer a world?" Nara mocked Abaddon, who growled at her impudence.
"THEY..." Abaddon stopped and visibly reigned in his anger, appearing calm, "They will be pleased. Every universe conquered by the forces of Chaos is a victory to be praised by. It will be enough for them."
Nara scoffed, swirling her drink in her chalice, "Then be weary, Despoiler; The Dark Master and the Daemon Queen can only tolerate so many failures."
Abaddon growls but does nothing as the projection fell back to liquid blackness, splattering onto the floor as Nara looked on in distain.
XXX
An unknown time later...
Earth
Rever Bay
The docks of Rever Bay were almost quiet, save for the fact that there were the sounds of war between the cultists and the army sent to destroy them. All was calm and quiet before a hand suddenly shot out from the water and grabbed one of the poles that held the docks up, before pulling herself to the docks.
It was definitely Debra, albeit in a roughed-up shape, unclothed and drenched in water as she pulled herself up to the docks, laying there as she covered her abdomen that was profusely.
She raised her hand from her abdomen to see that it was still punctured but slowly healing. The Lasombra growled but covered it back up so that it could heal completely as she used her remaining arm to crawl near an unconscious cultist, who was thankfully and conveniently around her size. Grabbing the unconscious woman by the neck, Debra dug her fangs into her jugulars and started draining the woman of her blood, causing the wound to seal up.
Upon slurping the woman dry, Debra proceeded to unclothe the body and use whatever she had to clothe herself. What she had been able to get was a tattered red long sleeve shirt and a tattered pair of black pants, and the only weapon on the woman was a loaded AK-47 with its wooden parts painted red and covered in the star of Chaos.
The Lasombra decided it was enough before she crawled away.
Debra coughed up the excess blood as she laid against the metal chest on the docks, nursing the healed wound in her stomach and feeling the Abyss-tainted vitae in her abdomen slosh around inside like blended organs and viscera. She felt the God of Destruction's dark essence crawl into her veins, knowing what fate awaited her when her unlife was done.
A car seemingly saw her laying there at the docks and pulled up, knowing she was vulnerable and unable to fight back. Her form stilled as she felt the dark essence writhing inside her, closing her eyes in bleak acceptance.
"Debra! DEBRA!"
She froze when a familiar voice rang through her ears, causing her to turn in both fear and anticipation before she gapes when she saw who was coming towards her.
It was her brothers; Drake, Eric, Alan, and Jack, all now cultists to the Dark Gods, dressed in haphazard clothing and armor of red with chaotic symbols. They raced towards her, Drake and Jack helping her stand up with Eric and Alan keeping guard for anybody trying to kill them.
"Jesus, Debra!" Drake yelled as he wiped the dust off of her, "Where the hell have you been?! You've been gone for months!"
Jack suddenly froze when he felt Debra's skin, "Deb... Why's your skin so cold?"
The Lasombra chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of her head, "That's a long story..."
Her brothers look at each other before they saw a convoy coming in from the distance, Drake quickly ordering them, "We'll talk about it later! Get rid of anything that makes you look like a cultist!"
The brothers immediately replied, shedding the armor and throwing away their weapons, hiding them in the metal chests, before the convey came to them when Drake ran to the streets and flagged them down.
"OVER HERE! OVER HERE!" He yelled to them as the convoy slowly stopped their vans to see what they think were civilians caught in the nightmare of Rever Bay's descent into madness. The National Guard poured out and helped them into the convoy, while some talked to Drake.
She chuckled again, resting against her brother's shoulder. Jack looked at her for a second before smiling and patting her on the back as the army took them into their care and away from this cursed city.
Tommy: A dreamer turned Raider
Tommy let out a gasp as he catapulted from his bed, looking around his room before he saw that he was fine, breathing in and out like he had just survived being drowned and forced into dark waters. The guy let his head fall back onto his pillow in relief that he was still alive, before he merely got out of bed and went downstairs for breakfast.
The moment he got downstairs though; Tommy could tell something wasn't right. His father was sitting in front of the TV staring blankly at the screen, his mouth wide to where Tommy thought that his jaw unhinged. The dockworker's son then turned to the screen and saw what shocked his father so much.
The TV showed several videos from the mines, dragging out tractors and vehicles with their occupants fused with the interior, red hot rocks, and an iridescent aura of light. Several shots showed the crystals that he had uncovered being wheeled away into trucks.
"Breaking News!" A female reporter came on the news, shuffling her papers while the scenes from the mine was shown on the side, "A massive explosion in Rever Bay gold mine rocked the small fishing town last night, resulting in the deaths and injuries of several miners. Out in the mine is our very own, Max Dorsey. Max?"
"Thank you, Tamara." Max Dorsey replied as he motioned to the destroyed mine behind him, "A grisly scene hit Rever Bay's gold mine last night as a massive explosion rocked the mine, killing several workers and disfiguring and injuring several more. The source of the explosion and any signs of the explosion being manmade has yet to be identified. The mine has been cordoned off from the public as government radiation workers are being called in to investigate the mine for signs of lethal radiation. A statement regarding the statis of the mine will be released following the investigation."
"Jesus..." Tommy whispered as he took in the events of the bombing on the TV, sitting next to his father, "What happens now, Dad?"
His father merely drank from his bottle of cooking sherry before telling his son, "Well, your school called this morning, said that they're gonna wait until they've cleaned up the radiation in the mines, meaning that you've got Monday and Tuesday off, Tom."
Tommy stared in shock before he let out a breath, taking a can of Coke that was on the table before cracking it open and leaning back into the couch. The only thing running through his mind now is 'What's gonna happen now?'
XXX
2 days later...
Since Tommy had nothing to do and he'd played the fuck out of Left4Dead, he decided 'screw it' and went out to the docks where his dad worked. He knows that that's a little weird, but it was the only thing he was comfortable doing. That and he was oddly drawn to the water, like something was pulling him there.
But when he got there, the most he did was just to sit there and watch them work; moving crates, seeing fishermen bringing up fishnets filled with captured trout and tuna in the distance, moving things via forklifts, or taking to each other and making light of their situation. In a way, Tommy somewhat gained an understanding of what it's like to work in this kind of environment, but he still wished he could have been able to fulfill some childish dreams of his.
At some point, Tommy just leaned back on the bench he was sitting on with his comic book on his face, lightly snoring as he got some shuteye.
"Come into the water..."
Tommy awoke in a jerk, hearing a calm and soothing voice from some dark part of his head, taking his book of his face before looking around in surprise, wondering where that voice came from.
"Come into the water..."
The voice came to him again, causing him to jerk and look around again on instinct. It felt more like the voice was swimming through his head rather than a voice through his ears, confusion rushing through him as he put a hand to his head, trying to get his brain in order.
"Come into the water..."
Tommy shook his head and slowly walked to the docks on impulse, brushing past the other workers like he was invisible. Something in the water seemed to be drawing him in as it continued to call out in his mind.
"Come into the water..."
He snuck past each worker, hiding behind the crates as he slowly crept through the shipyard, trying his best to hide from anything that would be used to find him. He watched carefully and slowly creeping until he got close enough to the edge of the shipyard.
"COME INTO THE WATER..."
Tommy breathed deeply the urge slowly got to him as the sound of the tides washing up nearly became deafening. Swallowing his fear, he got to the edge of the harbor, staring at the ever-shifting tides that came crashing against the seawalls. Something stirred as his feet reached the edges, like a shark or something more eldritch.
Breathing in and breathing out, Tommy closed his eyes and let himself fall off the docks.
A second later, a wave of liquid cold came over him, floating in the realm of the depths like a soul lost to sea. He found himself awash in an overwhelming calm, no breath leaving him and no water filling his lungs even as he opened his mouth, the water seemingly bending through his fingers, and seeing something crawling through the distance. It was almost beautiful like it was another world filled with only water and exhilaration.
Something suddenly drew towards him, slithering and writhing like a serpent but with the grace of a shark. Instead of panicking at the thought of this thing consuming him, Tommy remained calm and closed in his eyes.
Suddenly, someone wrapped their arms around him and pulled him to the surface before it could do anything. Tommy and his savior both let out a choked gasp for air before he saw that his savior was Matt, having removed his hardhat and vest, raising his hand to the other dockworkers who had gathered by the edge of the shipyard presumably because of him dropping into the water.
"I got him!" Matt called out before the two of them swam to a ladder that the dockworkers let down. The two climbed up the ladder, before the dockworkers pulled the both of them up, one of them happened to be Tommy's father.
"Jesus, Tom, what the hell got into you?!" His father berated him as they draped towels over him and Matt, nearly slapping the former for making him have a near heart attack.
Tommy opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out before he managed to mutter out, "I-I don't know..."
"I saw him." Matt replied, getting the dockworker's attention, "It was like he was in a trance..."
Tommy's father looked at his son worryingly, while Tommy himself only tried to make himself seem smaller.
XXX
Wednesday morning
Tommy woke up groaning, sitting up as he rubbed his eyes and got ready for another day of school. After his little stunt at the shipyard, his father grounded him and forced him to stay at the house no matter how bored he had gotten, so he had been forced to slake his boredom by any means necessary, even drinking some of his father's cooking sherry.
But that didn't matter anymore. He had school and Dad told him he had to drive himself to school as he had to go to the docks early for something that involved a military shipment.
Tommy got out of bed, not bothering to make it as he quietly went to the bathroom. He apathetically opened the door and switched the lights on by reflex. Three seconds later however, he wished he hadn't.
He entered and was about two inches from the sink before he saw himself in the mirror, causing him to let out a yelp of shock. He was still in his black tank top and white sweatpants, but he had become somewhat muscular which wasn't that surprising given that his dad always made him exercise. The part that scared him was that his hair had become greyer and had grown to his chin, his skin became grey and rubbery like a great white shark's, his nails had darkened and sharpened, and his teeth had sharpened and became shark-like.
"Whoa..." Tommy breathed out as he brushed his chin with his fingers, trying not to cut himself with his sharpened nails.
The teenager merely tried to ignore it and tried to brush his teeth, hoping that it'll take his mind off it. Suddenly, he reacted his toothbrush to see that it was ruined, now more a stump of a brush and causing him to spit out the remains of it out of his mouth. He then used his father's electric toothbrush and was much more careful as to not ruin it lest his father yell at him.
With that done, he got dressed and went downstairs, going to the kitchen to get an apple and a glass of water for breakfast. It didn't seem like much, but he never really had much of an appetite, so he'll take anything for a meal.
As he took a bite into the apple, Tommy read One Piece, checking his phone to see if he still had time. After setting his phone down, he mentally recalled how his father constantly said, 'be more responsible, blah blah blah.' Tommy rolled his eyes and made a dismissive wave of his hand, before he froze when he heard a splash from beside him.
He turned to see the glass of water that he had with him had a small puddle near it. Raising an eyebrow, Tommy picked up the glass and examined it, before stopping when the water compressed when he closed his fist, causing him to open it and for the water to go back to decompress as he set it down.
Tommy stared at the glass of water that he just set down, and then directed his gaze at his hand before extending it to the cup. Suddenly, the water tensed and coiled like flesh before flowing upwards into the air in the shape of a thick tendril. He stared in awe before he lowered it, the arm of water collapsing into the cup with a light splash around the table.
Astonished, Tommy looked at his hand and breathed out again, "Whoa..."
Shaking it off, the teenager just finished his apple and exited his house in a hurried pace, before he noticed that it was raining. He extended a hand out, letting some droplets splash onto his palm before he saw them quickly get absorbed into his skin. He stared but shrugged it off, walking into the rain and letting the droplets fall on his skin and on the white hoodie, grey long sleeve shirt with a shark design, white khakis, and black tennis shoes he was wearing, though not enough to drench him.
He then unlocked the garage and opened the garage door, revealing a grey van inside his father's mancave. It was only 3 years old, but his dad got it for a good price and decided not to waste such a good car. He only used it whenever his truck needed to get repairs, but other than that, he let Tommy use it for whatever reason the latter needed, such as going to school when he couldn't take him.
Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Tommy sighed to himself as he opened the car door and sat in the driver seat, "Another day at school." He mumbled as he put his seatbelt on, adjusted his mirrors, and started the van. The engine purred to life, the light buzzed on, and the meter showed that he had a full tank of gas that he 5 days ago when he refueled after taking it out to get some fast food.
"Alright..." Tommy inhaled and exhaled, before putting the car in reverse, "Let's start the day..."
He backed the van up and slowly drove out of the driveway and into the street, where all he saw was the hills and forest for miles with the lake and river leading out to elsewhere and the ocean sitting almost 34 miles out of town. Tommy mused at how one side has fresh water, and the other side has salt water but shrugged it off as he had the rain to distract him.
As he drove through the empty highway with heavy rain and thunder though, Tommy squinted when he saw a figure at a railed section of the road that was blocking off a dangerously high cliff over the river. He slowed the van down, seeing the figure was what appeared to be an old man with short white hair and in Demin jeans, a white shirt under a Demin jacket, and a pair of suede shoes.
Tommy slowly stopped when he got near the old man, wondering where the old man came from and why was he here. Suddenly, the old man climbed over the railing and jumped off the cliff, into the river below without even a word.
"OH, SHIT!" Tommy yelled as he parked the van at the side of the road and immediately got out, rushing to the railed section and started screaming over the edge of the cliff, "HEY! HEY! ARE YOU OKAY?! HELLO?!"
Suddenly, he heard a splash and saw the ripples of something that had just fallen into the river. The thunder crashed louder than he'd ever heard in his life before suddenly, a pillar of water shot from the river, causing Tommy to stumble back and into the thankfully empty street, slamming into the passenger seat door of his van before he gaped at the sight before him.
A massive... thing stood before him, towering over the hills and mountains, almost as gargantuan as Everest. It possessed a cephalopod-like head with a radiant red mouth covered by many black tentacles, and 3 sets of glowing azure eyes, possessing a black humanoid body with many eyes and mouths so tiny, they appear as dots and slivers, and a swarm of crustaceans and sharks swimming through its viscous ebony flesh. Resting on its back was a pair of titanic wings with azure membranes that would eclipse a city and flatten landscapes with a mere flap.
Tommy stared at the creature for an unknown amount of time, mostly because his mind went blank when the thing stared down at him with its old and adrenaline filled eyes, when suddenly...
"STROMFELS..."
A voice, cacophonous and deafeningly deep, rang out in his mind like a thing sitting at the bottom of a star sized ocean.
The creature suddenly collapsed into a massive torrent of water that fell along with the rain, submerging back into the river. A frazzled Tommy ran to the edge of the railing, seeing that it was like when he first saw it.
Staring for what felt like an hour, Tommy rubbed his eyes and straightened himself out, returning to his van and practically collapsing onto his seat while putting his hands to his face in exasperation. That did not just happen, right? Yeah, he was probably just reading too much Lovecraft again and the high was causing him to hallucinate that gigantic Cthulhu fucker in an attempt from his mind to get him to stop and focus on life.
...Or maybe he wasn't hallucinating and that actually happened. And in the case that it did, he was probably going to abandon his belief in God and turn to the worship of whatever the hell 'Stromfels' was.
Dragging his hands down his face, Tommy sighed and started the car... before his eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw that it was 7:45.
"OH, SHIT!" Tommy yelled as he slammed his foot on the gas, causing the van to go speeding down the street towards the school.
XXX
4 weeks later...
November came a little earlier than he expected, but it made no difference to Tommy especially since that they canceled school after several kids became sick from the radiation's effects, and especially after that massacre in the school. Still, that meant that he had nothing to do other than read One Piece and play video games all day. His dad didn't seem to notice the changes to him, something that he didn't know whether or not to be happy or disappointed with.
On one hand, his dad didn't freak out at the fact that his son had sharkskin. On the other hand, he didn't get to show off his cool new look.
Still, Tommy didn't let that get him down as he used his new look to be as intimidating as possible, making sure the newly forming gangs knew not to mess with him or they'd die screaming. And he mentally admits that he'd do it if they pushed him.
For some reason, he'd been craving meat a lot, feasting on steak and fish ever since then, even if his dad forced him to eat vegetables too. Though it grossed him out to admit that sometimes he preferred the meat raw rather than cooked, something that almost got him caught when he found himself eating a raw fish that he caught from the harbor.
Despite that, Tommy found himself free to do as his heart desired and his heart's desire was to simply just go out into the ocean and swim when he wasn't doing his usual hobbies.
Waiting until his dad left for work, Tommy exited his house and ran to the lake near his house. Only clad in his black swim trunks, Tommy dived into the water, unfazed by the temperature as he swam to the deep parts of the lake. He opened and deeply breathed the water into his mouth, the liquid filtering into his lungs before the oxygen was siphoned off and became gas, expelled from his mouth as pure carbon dioxide.
He swam and swam, gazing at a fish that passed by him for a brief second before shooting through the water like a bullet, taking in the scenery of the underwater world around him. It was a world of blue and black with rays of light glaring down and piercing the blackness. The liquid pulled at his fingers, causing him to pause and staring at his hand before doing it again.
The water danced on his fingers, twisting into shapes like shark-jaws and thornbushes before they dissolved back into water. Tommy stared at his hand in shock, before he shook it off and swam back off.
As he was swimming however, an idea came by in his head. If he could control water, then he could obviously do something about it. Something that he'd been wanting to do ever since he started reading One Piece all those years back!
The shark-boy surfaced and ran back to his house, changing from his swim trunks into a white long-sleeve shirt with a black flaming skull design under a white hoodie and beige khakis with white tennis shoes. After that, Tommy jogged to an abandoned part of the forest where a house had been built only 20 years ago but it was abandoned due to a drug lab being set up in the garage. Ever since, gangs and delinquents went there to either do drugs or have all kinds of parties. There, he could set up some stuff for his idea, mainly just setting bricks up for the moves he was about to practice.
After setting up the final brick, Tommy stepped back and mentally recalled the techniques that he saw in the anime.
"Okay, Tommy, let's see if you can somehow do Fish-Man Karate like how Jinbe or Kuroobi did it..." Tommy muttered to himself as he got into a stance. Remembering how Jinbe did the technique, the shark-man reared his fist back and then-
"THOUSAND BRICK FIST!" Tommy yelled out as he rammed his fist into the first brink of the hundreds that he set up, the force spreading through each of them like a shockwave from a maelstrom. Each brick exploded one by one in rapid succession, disintegrating into a cloud of faint red that flowed away.
Tommy made out a sound of utter awe and excitement, looking at his hands as a manic grin spread across his face as he took another stance.
"ARABESQUE BRICK FIST!" Tommy yelled as he punched the air around him, transmitting the force of the blow to the water vapor around him, sending a massive shockwave at whatever was in front of him. The trees suddenly buckled under the pressure, splintering into a field of broken wood and ripped apart leaves.
"5,000 BRICK FIST!" Another yell came from him as he slammed his fist into a nearby bolder, causing it to splinter into dust and pebbles.
"WATER SHOT!" He swiped his open hand forwards, causing droplets of water to rocket towards a large rock at blinding speeds, piercing through it like a knife through flesh.
"YARINAMI!" A piercing cyclone of water came from his palms, piercing through a nearby cliff and leaving a trunk-sized hole in it before it collapsed under its own weight.
"YARINAMI: MURASAME!" This time a series of projectiles came from his palms and struck the hillside, leaving several basketball sized holes in the earth.
"WOO!" Tommy cheered out with his arms in the air, before he calmed down and readied himself for more, "Now for some Fish-Man Jujutsu."
"MURASAME!" He yelled as he gathered water around his fist before unleashing it, the shots taking the form of sharks before they pierce through the hillsides.
"AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE!" Tommy yelled out as he whirled around, "FISHMAN KARATE SECRET ART: DEMON BRICK FIST!" His fist suddenly blackened like it was imbuded with Haki before connecting with the abandoned house, a wave of black lighting blazing through the area of impact. The structure buckled under the force of his blow, uprooted and sent flying into the mountainside, splintering it into rubble when it collided, reducing it to little more than a smoking wreck.
The cheer of excitement from Tommy had to be heard to be believed, his arms high above his head before he slowly lowered them and exhaled, coming down from the adrenaline high before he suddenly saw that it was getting dark. Letting out a breath to get the rest of the high out of his system, Tommy started to walk back to his house... before he noticed that there was one brick that managed to survive the onslaught.
A quick motion and then the brick splintered into dust, sending a brick-colored cloud away. Tommy smirked and blew the smoke off his steaming fingers before running back to his house so his dad wouldn't kill him.
XXX
1 month later...
Everything turned upside down in Rever Bay when the cults started fighting in broad daylight, but it turns out this was the best thing that ever happened to Tommy, especially after he knocked his dad out and got him to the civilians that were fleeing the town while they could, they managed to take him out of the bay before things got back for him.
After that, he and several likeminded individuals gathered and One Piece fans together to form their own pirate crew, raiding and looting whatever they came across for their continued strength. At the same time though, they treated each other like friends and family rather than just fellow soldiers, being that they were nothing without each other to support the crew.
Tommy was barely recognizable; he had grown at least two feet while his now bleached white hair reached his shoulders. His skin was now light grey and rubbery like a shark's, covered in tattoos and barely containing the muscles that he gained. Above a nose that possessed a horizonal scar sat twin lusterless black void-like eyes, boring holes into the unfortunate souls that caught his gaze. Hiding behind his lips was a maw of shark-like fangs, capable of rending flesh and bone into pulp or piercing thick metal walls, with several backups stored in the jaw.
His torso was covered by a grey tank top with a red shark design under a black leather vest with red highlights, fringed belt around his waist with a shark belt buckle, brown slacks, leather shoes, and a shark tooth necklace wrapped around his neck. On his arms were twin grey metal gauntlets with three underbite chainsaw-like blades and built-in underslung AR-15s. These gauntlets he affectionately calls Riptide and Red Tithe.
His crew were like him, dressed in stolen clothing and tactical gear, armed with chainswords, chainaxes, and guns with chainsaw bayonets. They sported mutations akin to amphibious creatures, ranging from crustacean limbs to octopoid tentacles to even barnacles that the user could rip off and use as mini bombs. Like him, they were One Piece fans or pirate enthusiasts before they came together to form their crew.
"Come on, you jack-offs!" Tommy roared to his fellow followers of Stromfels, as their ship, the Ravager, docked at the harbor, "Let's tithe these assholes!"
That certainly rallied the other pirates of the Shark God, causing them to jump off the ship and charge into the hordes of other cultists who reacted in horror at seeing the chainsaw weaponry they brought with them. The slowest were the unluckiest as they were reduced to mincemeat by the pirates, while the ones further away were blown to bloody paste by the High Explosive rounds that they loaded into their guns.
However, after they managed to slowly overtake the shipyard, more cultists saw that they were taking their territory and didn't take too kindly to that. Zealous yells filled their ears, causing the pirates to turn to see several hundred cultists rushing towards them like a swarm of rapid beast to tear their organs out and feast on their blood... and the pirates weren't the least bit intimidated.
"More meat for grinder!" One of the pirates with calmy skin and octopoid tentacles grinned as he brandished his chainaxes, along with the other pirates as they charged headlong into the swarm of cultists that came screaming for their deaths.
"FISH-MAN KARATE BITCHES!" Tommy howls as he launches several droplets of water so fast that they pierce the flesh of several cultists through their armor, killing them near instantly as it punctured their hearts. The leader of the Ravage Pirates became a veritable tornado of death as his arms became burrs as they cleaved through bodies like they were passing through water, quickly creating a massive pool of blood and pulped viscera spilling into the floor.
His crew wasn't falling behind, reducing several of their foes to paste with either their weapons or strength. One pirate punched a cultist so hard that his face came to resemble a dropped pie, before caving in the ribs in with a kick, the bone shards piercing the lungs and filling them with blood and fluid. A female pirate with black void-like eyes killed 12 cultists that came toward her like mincemeat with her spear, another pirate ripped the barnacles off his skin and threw them at the hordes which detonated on impact and reduced several to slurry, and another spit out a barb of Triton Snail which hit a berserker in the head who died almost instantly from the poison.
As the Pirates continued to slaughter more and more of their numbers, the cultists began to release that they were in over their heads, attempting to flee with their lives. The keyword being attempting. The Pirates were on their tails, slicing and ripping them to pieces in a display of flying blood and guts that painted the already bloodied shipyard red.
The last cultist tried to crawl away, covered in the blood and guts of his fellow cultists, hoping that the pirates wouldn't notice him. His hopes were dashed when a chainaxe was thrown into the back of his skull, it reeved even when the trigger wasn't pulled, sawing through his head and splitting it open. Its wielder merely retrieved it with one of his tentacles, which started to suck up the blood of the cultist that it just slain.
As Tommy flicked the blood off his saws, he let out a chuckle, "Well, that was fun." The others chuckled along with him, still though, now they had nothing to do at the moment other than just going back to the Ravager and sailing off to a different part of the town.
Suddenly, a roar was heard, causing them to pause and turn to the source, which was something that shocked the entire crew.
It was a massive fly monster that was currently making pulp out of the forces of Malice, even when someone that he recognized as Debra used her shadow powers to fight the thing before she suddenly fled, leaving her forces to their doom via the monster's tentacles and poison dust. Tommy gave a sneer of disapproval at that but did nothing.
"What now, boss?" One of the pirates asked Tommy, snapping him out of his thoughts as he turned to the crew looking at him for what to do next.
Thinking things over, Tommy shook his head, "Secure this place and take all the supplies we need. When the government decides enough, we need to get out of here as fast as we can."
The others nodded and started to raid the shipping containers for supplies and gear while Tommy merely sat down on a nearby chair and slid Riptide and Red Tithe off his arms before putting his hands behind his head and leaning back. Kicking up his legs on a stood, Tommy exhaled, thinking back to the times when he was back in school and just hanging with friends.
Had he known this was where his life was heading... he'd have done nothing to prevent it.
He never understood those people in movies or tv that whenever they get powers, they always bemoan them or feel like it makes them monsters. Sure, to each their own, but ever since he got these powers, he's had the time of his life! That and his ability manipulate water made it easier for him to get a drink when he was too lazy to get up from the couch.
Maybe they were addicted to routine, maybe it's just the fact that for some odd reason they liked their boring lives, maybe it's the fact that they'd be seen as freaks by 'normies', but for him; he's just fine with his powers.
And then there's the fact that society collapsed, giving him an excuse to simply gather people like him and sail off like the Straw Hats.
Suddenly, Tommy was taken out of his relaxed state when he sensed something, moving his head as something cleaved through the space where his head was a nanosecond ago. He quickly sheathed his arms with Riptide and Red Tithe and fired on whomever was attacking, but to his confusion, the bullets impacted something like someone hitting putty.
Then he saw a massive dome of blackness, small sparkles indicating where the bullets had hit, swirling and reforming, like a monster of the void.
The shadows suddenly released, revealing the woman who earned his hate, Debra. She was cloaked in a garment that resembled a bodysuit made of liquid shadow that hugged her body skintight, her hair shorter than he remembered, two fangs peering through her lips, and her eyes like the void.
"Well, well, Tommy." Debra announced, hands on her hips as she radiated smug confidence as several of her surviving followers of Malice arrived, "You created a pirate crew? How am I not surprised?"
"And you're some shadow vampire. Should I be surprised?" The shark man mocked her, not at all intimidated by her but she merely rolled her eyes.
"'Every night and every morn, some to misery are born. Every morn and every night. Some are born to sweet delight; some are born to endless night.'" Debra quoted William Blake as she and the captain circled each other like a pair of lions engaged in a challenge, "I'm going to kill you now, Tommy."
"Not in this lifetime." Tommy replied with a scoff and sneer as he reeved the saws of Riptide and Red Tithe, before he quoted William Blake back at her, "'As the air to a bird, or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptable.'"
Debra raised an interested eyebrow at him, "You know quotes from William Blake?"
"Oh, Debby," He intentionally gave her that nickname, causing her to frown, "There's a lot you don't know about me."
The Lasombra merely scowled and snapped her fingers, causing several thousand tendrils of blackness towards him. He dodged and ran up a support pillar before dropping down and dropkicking her in the head, causing Debra to yelp in pain but she retaliated with a shadowy fist to his skull, sending him skidding back on the heels of his shoes.
She attempted to attack again but he dodged and then delivered a crushing blow to her torso, sending her back into the metal shipping containers. Debra coughs up blood as she tried to stand up, when one of her fellow cultists ran towards her in concern. He helped her stand up, letting her lean on him for support while the others held off Tommy even as he tore through them easily.
"Ma'am, are you-" His concerned words were cut off when the Lasombra suddenly dug her fangs into his neck. The cultist gurgled as he began to seizure, blood flowing into her veins and healing her wounds while he began drying into a husk. The captain of the Ravager slashed the last of the ones attacking him before he saw her feeding on her own soldiers.
The moment she dried the cultist to a husk, Debra threw the corpse the ground without a care in the world. Tommy's expression suddenly became an odd fusion of calm and furious as his glare bore into her like a shark smelling the blood of its prey.
His tone was calm but the flames underneath it burned coldly, "You are truly as pathetic as they come."
Turning to him, Debra gave a grin, "Thanks, luv. I try."
"NO! You're truly pathetic!" Tommy roared out, stomping out Deb's smugness as he got into a speech that came from the heart, "You talk a big game, but you're nothing and you know it! Back in the fight with the Nurglites, your first target was a venerable Bob. And while you were getting your shit pushed in by Bob, your friends did all the hard work. How did you repay them?!"
Now angry as his words, Debra roared out, "MORALISING OVER THAT DEATH GAUNTLET!?"
"YOU WERE THEIR LEADER!" Tommy roared back, causing her to flinch with a shocked expression, "IF YOU GAVE A SHIT, YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED IT! You didn't even TRY! Instead, you hid! You had something to gain, so you ran away while your friends tore each other apart!"
Debra defended her views, "It was survival of the fittest!"
"BULLSHIT!" Tommy roared, not buying her words in the slightest, "They were your comrades! And you smiled, you evil bitch! You smiled while you let Bob murder people idiotic enough to accept you!"
The silence was deafening as both groups were left speechless by his words, looking at each other while Debra's side could see the point he made, they were too scared of her to rebel against her. Debra's face was the epitome of calmness before it lightly twisted into a snarl, "I bet you think that really pissed me off..."
In but a moment later, Debra and Tommy charged at each other, darkness and water trailing behind them respectively before corrupted blade met chainsaw gauntlet, sending an explosion that threw the both of them back before the latter summoned a tide of cursed water in the shape of a roaring shark that bit down on her, enveloping her in a sphere of water.
Deb grasps her throat for air before she manages to concentrate enough to create a blast of darkness that destroyed the sphere, glaring intensely at Tommy who remained defiant as he charged at her without a hint of fear. Her shadows blades clashed against his chainsaw gauntlets in a flurry of strikes and slashes before Tommy rammed his foot into her ribcage, crushing it as she let out a yell of pain when she was sent flying back.
Suddenly, the Lasombra warped away through her shadows before she could crash into the wall of the ship. Tommy looked around the shipyard for her, only to smell her emerging from behind him, blocking a shadow blade strike with his arm as he turned to see her shadow clad form, seeing arachnid-like tendrils moving around like they were knitting something.
"You know?" Debra snarled at the shark raider, "I've always hated you, Tommy. I hated you ever since you came to this town 3 years ago."
"Good," Tommy replied with a growl, "Cause I hate you even more!" He capped that sentence off with a fist to her face, causing her to backflip away but not before a thin shadow tendril slashed him across the cheek that didn't even make him bat an eye before he uppercutted her in the jaw, breaking it but the tendrils held it in place as she was struck again in the chest, sending her back.
Suddenly, flames began appearing around her, but they were not ordinary flames. They were like shadows that were burning darkly, if that made any sense. She rose from the ground with the flames tensing and Tommy vaguely saw an unlucky crate get reduced to ash from the flames. Debra gave him a psychotic grin before yelling out as the black flames flared skyward and devoured all light for an agonizing few minutes. She then gave the greatest psychotic glare/grin at Tommy, who's only response was to simply slide Riptide and Red Tithe off his arms, standing unyielding.
"Face it!" Debra yelled out as the flaming shadows coiled around her hands, "My power exceeds yours!"
She launched a massive torrent of black flames at Tommy merely who raised his hand as it enveloped him. Before any of his crew yelled out in horror and Debra laughed out in sadistic schadenfreude, they all noticed that the torrent was ending in a massive blaze of steam. It was then that they saw Tommy standing against the torrent with a shield of water from the shipyard, braving the intense flames and heat.
"Do I look like I need your power?" Tommy retorted as he slowly trudged forwards, his shield of water braving her black flames before delivering a kick that sent a massive pillar of water spearing at her. Debra was slammed in the nearest metal shipping containers, denting it before she ducked under a water blade from Tommy that sliced through the metal like paper.
A mighty roar rang out from the Shark King as his liquid blades dug into her torso before he grabbed her by the face and slammed her into the ground. To finish her off, he grabbed her by the back and hoisted her up into the air before throwing her down so hard that the ground splintered, nearly breaking her spine from the force of the impact.
That did it. Debra was 110% done with this shit.
The Lasombra got up and uppercutted Tommy so hard that he backflipped away and landed on his feet. The vampire's rage was nearly like a blazing inferno as her eyes seemed like they could catch ablaze while Tommy's gaze was calm like freezing fire.
"I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU!" Debra screamed as she suddenly produced a metal stylized cane and then stabbed her hand, drawing blood before she drew the Mark of Malice on the ground.
Suddenly, black miasma poured from the symbol, congealing into a mass of darkness that bulged and deformed into a new shape. It took the shape of a gargantuan pitch-black golem, roughly humanoid in shape, but without a distinct head, and spiked hands with long branch-like fingers. Its body comprised of a demonic fluid with solid metallic plating, this fluid expanding and contracting into its body in a manner similar to breathing and its most notable feature is its glowing white core, located at the base of where its neck would be.
"KILL THEM!" Debra roared as the golem roared, extending its fingers like spears at the followers of Stromfels as they dodged out of the way, spearing through the docks and killing several on her side and his.
"Oh, yeah?" Tommy rammed his fists together, "Two can play at that game!"
He stuck one finger in his mouth and cut it against his fangs, before then drawing a circle on the ground and then drawing the kanji of Retribution (冥罰), before slamming his palm on the symbol that erupted in a bright blue light. Suddenly, the harbor erupted in a tidal wave before they parted to reveal a massive Cthulhu-like humanoid composed entirely of water with burning red eyes.
His summon suddenly spread its tentacles out before a blast of lightning speared out of its mouth, impacting the Nightmare in its eye, causing it to squeal out in pain and agony before it extended an arm at the thing in an attempt to impale it and destroy it. The elongated limb merely passed through the watery composition of the creature before it grabbed the Nightmare and proceeded to drag it into the water.
The two summoned daemons duked it out in the water, while Tommy and Debra continued their fight: the former using his water blades and the latter using her stylized cane. The two seemed more like blurs of strikes and lashes rather than two people fighting one on one. Of course, their followers weren't just standing by and watched, they fought each other like frenzied beasts.
Creatures of the void and oceans came at each other like monsters that dragged each other into death's all-encompassing embrace. It roared and roiled into a maelstrom between Stromfels and Malice, each like a monster of flesh and spirit. Soon, Debra's cane speared into Tommy's shoulder before she uppercutted him, sending him back and into one of the support pillars.
He didn't even let out a grunt of pain as he felt the torn tissues regrow, forcing himself to stand even as her cane ripped out of his shoulder and flew back into her hand. A black aura surrounded her like a monster of blackness, walking towards him like a predator closing in on its prey.
"Gentlemen!" Debra called out as she drew near, her shadows coiling and tenses in response to her bloodlust as she raised her cane, "You seem to have difficulty understanding that I'm the goddamn Sabbat. Mercy? Shame? Human weaknesses! I am beyond human! I see what I want, and I take it! If I can take it, it belongs to me! I AM THE SWORD OF CAINE, YOU WRETCH! AND I FALL WHERE I PLEASE!"
The world slowed to a crawl as she swung to smite him, her face a maniacal grin that suddenly faded when she saw him smirking. Suddenly, the Shark King then thrust his palm out before a spear of water erupted from his hand, piercing her torso and causing her to drop her cane as she was rammed into another support pillar, breaking her spine in the process.
Debra vomited a massive amount of blood before she suddenly found herself being lifted by Tommy over his head.
"And you fall into HEEEELLLLLL!" Tommy roared as he heaved the Lasombra over the edge of the shipyard and over the edge, sending her hurling into the water.
Unable to do anything but scream, Debra yelled out in horror as she impacted the water. Things from Stromfels' horde of creatures swarming her in droves as she tried to fight back, all of them disappearing into its unfathomable depths.
Seeing that Debra was gone, Tommy panted and dropped to one knee in an attempt to get a semi amount of rest before he suddenly quoted, "'Him the almighty power hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sea with hideous ruin and combustion down to bottomless perdition, there to dwell in adamantine chains and penal fire who dust defy the omnipotent to arms.'"
His crew turned to him with questioning gazes before he rolled his eyes, "Paradise Lost, when God casts Lucifer from Heaven."
The others let out sounds of understanding before he stood up, brushing himself off and turning to the town. Suddenly, there were more sounds of gunfire coming, that caused him to turn to the north and see a massive convoy of the US Army coming into Rever Bay.
"Oh, shit." The Shark King swore as he yelled to the others, "All of you get to the ship! We gotta get out of here!"
His crew immediately get the hell out dodge before the army got there, running to the Ravager while throwing what supplies to the port side before they got on their ship before the military caught up to them, ripping the ropes holding the ship and hoisting the sails to catch the wind to gain speed away from the shipyard.
As they sailed off to the ocean, Tommy vaguely saw the army reaching the shipyard but by then, they were already far enough that they wouldn't be seen. Which meant that they were come free.
Tommy practically howled with delight and joy, the adrenaline rushing through his veins as he and his crew howled into the endless expanse of the dark ocean. It was so liberating to finally be able to live out his childhood dreams.
"I've always wanted to say this." Tommy whispers in delight before he bellows out, "I'M GONNA BE KING OF THE PIRATES!"
XXX
5 years later...
The Black Sea of Stromfels
The heavy doors parting in front of him, Tommy got to the bridge of his new ship, the Ravager III, an imperial ship that was claimed by the Pirates for their own use. It still possessed its gothic aesthetic but was repainted blue and the iconography of the Shark God. Thankfully, it was still useable despite being saturated with Warp energy for so many centuries.
As of today, or whatever that meant when one travels through the Warp, the Dread Pirates on the way through the Black Seas of Stromfels, hoping to get to their next destination as quickly as possible. But since their bound Navigator was doing much of the work for them, the pirates could simply lounge around for a little bit. And given that his crew now consisted of a few hundred thousand members, including those doing their jobs to keep the ship running, that was quite a lot.
"Hey, cap!" One of Tommy's crewmates shook him out of his thoughts as he got to the bridge, it was a tall man with power armor that resembled the Carcharodons Space Marine Chapter, silver hair and black eyes and shark-skin like him, named Pistris. "Skwydd managed to swipe some shipments of Amasec off from those Traders. You want some?"
Tommy gives a toothy grin, "Why not?" He sat down on the captain's chair as one of their female slaves gave him a goblet and poured some amasec in it before he sips it, smacking his lips a little before he says, "Not bad. YOU!" The Shark King pointed to another slave, who yelped in fear when he pointed to her, "Tell the cooks to make me some food. I've been craving some burgers and fries lately."
The slave immediately nodded her fearful head at him and ran off to fulfill his request. With that done, the Shark King leaned back in his throne and sipped his goblet of amasec, while the others lounged around.
"Hey, remember when we stuck in the Outlands?" One crew member whose appearance reminded Tommy of Skwydd from Generator Rex spoke up, who was also named Skwydd by some cosmic coincidence, "Now, that was an experience to remember."
Everyone on the Ravager III shuddered at the memories of being stuck in that hellscape. They got there completely on accident after raiding a ritual site on another plant when suddenly the rift they were opening went haywire and they were suddenly teleported to the Outlands.
"Stuck in perpetual blackness..." One of them muttered, still traumatized from being the Outlands, "Forced to fight so often that we had to set up landmines and traps just to get some sleep. Even having to use that hollowed out abomination as a sleeping tent."
"It was worse than that time we got separated out in the Black Sea once," Pistris mentioned, sipping some amasec before continuing, "Me and the boys had to escape from the Krakens and the Xothians before we regrouped."
"There was also a giant octopus, but I don't know if I'm ready to talk about that." Another crew mate shuddered, reeling from that experience, "Let's just say that on that night, I was the Fisherman's Wife."
"OHOHOHO!" Tommy laughed along with the others, slapping his knee as the image conjured up in his head, "Gross, dude!" He then had a thought before he smiled lightly, "Hey, wanna hear the time I used a harpoon to gouge the eye out of a Space Marine?"
The crew immediately listened in and laughed their worries away as the Ravager III swam through the Black Ocean of Stromfels.
Ben: Teacher turned Marauder
Irons woke up with a choke, gasping for breath before he saw that he was on his couch in his apartment. Letting out a sigh of relief, Ben laid back down on the couch before rubbing his eyes to wake up. The silence in his apartment was welcoming as he could retain his focus on what the hell happened last night. Was that even real? Did he just imagine that, and his mind went back to his long-suppressed imagination to alleviate his mid-life crisis?
Those thoughts were silenced when he sat up and saw a container on the counter in his kitchen. It was the same container as the one where he stored the sample from the mine. Rising tremulously from his couch, Ben crept toward the capsule, placing his hand on the circular top of the container and twisted it open.
The sample was still there; glowing like it did when he first plucked it from the mass at the mines.
The TV showed several videos from the mines, dragging out tractors and vehicles with their occupants fused with the interior, red hot rocks, and an iridescent aura of light. Several shots showed the crystals that he had uncovered being wheeled away into trucks.
"Breaking News!" A female reporter came on the news, shuffling her papers while the scenes from the mine was shown on the side, "A massive explosion in Rever Bay gold mine rocked the small fishing town last night, resulting in the deaths and injuries of several miners. Out in the mine is our very own, Max Dorsey. Max?"
"Thank you, Tamara." Max Dorsey replied as he motioned to the destroyed mine behind him, "A grisly scene hit Rever Bay's gold mine last night as a massive explosion rocked the mine, killing several workers and disfiguring and injuring several more. The source of the explosion and any signs of the explosion being manmade has yet to be identified. The mine has been cordoned off from the public as government radiation workers are being called in to investigate the mine for signs of lethal radiation. A statement regarding the statis of the mine will be released following the investigation."
Irons started hyperventilating, dropping the remote and putting his hands to the sides of his head.
"Just calm down, Irons. Calm down." Ben told himself as he breathed in and out, trying to keep a cool head in the face of this precarious situation, "Just calm down and go to the school tomorrow. There, you can examine the sample and get out before anyone asks questions. And if anybody finds you, just say that you lost something from Friday."
Irons then stopped and thought things over, "Maybe I should wait a few days for it the panic to cool down. And call one of the kids to see if they experienced the same thing." He then proceeded to pull out his phone and started going through the school's database to find Matt's phone number.
He needed to figure out what to do now that there was something that tied him to the explosion.
XXX
Monday
Rever Bay High School
Irons' car parked in the library across from the school, hoping that it would provide him a way out should he not get caught in this attempt. The teacher inhaled before putting the car in park and turning it off and pulling the ski mask over his face. His plan was in place; he'd sneak into the school, use the analyzer to figure out the crystal's composition, try to hide it in a place that would place the blame on someone else, and get the hell out of there before someone sees him and suspects that he caused the explosion.
After exhaling and mentally psyching himself up, Irons exited the car, opening the back door to reveal the canister that held the sample. Taking it into his hands, Irons silently prayed that things would go as he hoped in this endeavor would go exactly as he mentally planned. And also prayed that that the phrase, 'No plan survives first contact with the enemy' wouldn't apply to him today.
Looking around to make sure that he wasn't being followed or that no one was around first, Irons quickly crossed the street from the library to the school, heading to the outside door to the external entrance to the faculty room. Looking around to make sure no one was near, the teacher then produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door to the school, quickly getting in before any kid or neighborhood watch member came by. Before he got any further, Irons turned to a keypad near the doorframe and typed in the password to the security system, so that it would deactivate, and he'd be able to get through the school freely.
Typing in the last number into the keypad and seeing the phrase 'PASSWORD ACCEPTED', Irons breathed a sigh of relief, pulling the ski-mask off and ran off from the faculty room to the chemistry lab.
Running down some hallways, Irons soon found the chemistry lab and unlocked it via the keys that he 'barrowed' from the principle. Thankfully, it was the same as Mr. Carson left it, some sets were still up but the cabinets containing all the chemicals were locked up tight. Thankfully, he brought all he needed with him so that he only needed the analyzer and the chemistry sets, nothing else from the school.
He set the canister down and unscrewed the top off, revealing the sample as he slowly shook it out and let it fall onto the table. After that, Irons set his backpack on the table, opening it up to reveal several bottles of chemicals and tools for chipping the sample. Thankfully, he was able to get some tools that fit in his bag and didn't create much noise.
Putting the chisel on the sample, he raised the hammer and gave a hard hit. The sound was small enough that it didn't exit the room, the crystal cracked and a small speck of it fell to the table.
With that done, Irons opened a bottle of acid and poured it in a measuring tube, before then taking out a pair of grabbers and using them to pick up the small sample and drop it into the acid, watching as the crystal dissolved. Suddenly, the acid seemed to become green and began glow like it was going through chemiluminescence for some God-only-knows reason.
"What the hell?" Irons whispered as he stared at the now glowing liquid in the measuring tube, picking it up and swirling it slightly. Shaking himself out of his stupor, the teacher quickly turned to the system, pouring it into the vial that would go into the machine.
He quickly closed the machine and started it up, muttering to himself, "Okay, Ben. Let's hope this hunk of junk can find out what this is." Irons' eyes were on the machine as it slowly hummed, lights presumably running down the vial as it began to intake the chemical structure of the liquid, and the resulting data being filtered into the system so it could decipher what it was looking at and then printing it out.
Irons waited a few minutes for it to finish before the readout paper began scrolling out, taking it into his hands and reading it in his head. His eyes widened as they took in the printout; the system seemed like it couldn't even find out what it was even looking at, the chemical compounds he was looking at made no sense, and it was like the system couldn't deem it acidic, a compound, or even a base.
Whatever he put in the system, it didn't seem to be anything ever discovered before.
A sound interrupted his thoughts as he turned to the door, hearing what he believed to be footfalls. The teacher quickly grabbed whatever he could and hid behind one of the tables, clutching the backpack close to his chest while dropping the crystal back in its canister and sealing it so its light wouldn't attract any attention. He turned to the machine that thankfully covered the light from the vial.
The footfalls stopped and didn't come back for a few minutes, causing a curious Irons to try to peek behind the table to see if he was in the clear. He didn't see anyone through the window in the door, slowly emerging from the table to creep to the knob and lock it.
Looking through the window, Irons saw that the hall was empty, save for whomever was wandering the halls, likely the janitor cleaning up from last night.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the teacher quickly got back to the desk, retrieving the sample and dumping the vial down the drain in his panic to get out as soon as he could before something happened to ruin his plan. Opening a drawer on Mr. Carson's desk, Irons stuffed the sample into the compartment and slammed it closed. A horrid feeling overcame him as he tried to pack his bags.
Shaking it off, Irons zipped the backpack closed and unlocked the door, hoping to get out while he could.
Suddenly, a light shined on him just as he got out of the chemistry lab, quickly turning around to see that the one responsible.
It was Mr. Carson, who had a flashlight in his hand and a confused expression on his face.
"Ben?" He asked in confusion, "What the hell are you doing here? School's been closed due to the explosion."
"Oh, umm..." Irons struggled to come up with an excuse before he threw back, "Wait, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, I-I came here because I forgot my laptop." Carson explained with a meek shrug. Irons turned to the chem lab and sure enough, there was Carson's laptop on his desk, sitting silently in the dark. Ben cursed, he should have gotten here quicker, but he could still get out of this.
"Okay." Ben faked before he used his excuse, praying that it'll work, "Well, I forgot something that belongs to my dad, and I found that the chemistry lab door was open, and I got curious."
Carson narrowed his eyes, seemingly suspicious but merely noted, "Alright, but I know you never usually forget anything."
Ben merely gave a genuinely nervous smile, "I don't but, it was a horrible day yesterday. And I just wanted it to be over."
The chemistry teacher still had a suspicious look as he entered the chemistry lab and looked around with Irons looking in to see if he bought it. However, Irons' luck immediately took a nosedive when Carson noticed that the drawer was open by a millimeter, opening it completely to reveal the canister. Ben's breath hitched as the teacher pulled it out and unscrewed the cap to reveal the sample.
"Oh, my god," Carson breathed out, turning to Irons, "Did you-"
Something in Irons' broke as he let out a yell and tackled Carson to the ground, slugging him across the face hard enough that the man's bloody teeth went flying out of his mouth. He continued to punch and punch, blood flying and splattering on his fists and the floor. Carson couldn't even beg as the beating was too fast, merely hoping desperately that Irons would stop.
By the time he calmed down, Irons saw what he had just did and his expression turned to one of horrified realization.
XXX
2 weeks later...
Northhurst State Penitentiary
The bells buzz rang out as the cell doors opened, and Benjamin Irons entered, dress in a standard orange prison uniform. He sat down on the bed, thanking whatever deity was responsible for him getting a cell without a cellmate. Now, to begin the long grueling process of waiting out his sentence before he was paroled.
The sound of the judge's voice still rang out through his head, echoing like a gunshot, "Benjamin Irons, due to lack of evidence, you are found not guilty of the Rever Bay gold mine bombing of September 21st. However, due to the sample of hazardous material found in your possession and the assault of Henry Carson, you will be charged with possession of hazardous material and aggravated assault. You're sentenced to three years in Northhurst State Penitentiary. You are legable for parole in two years or one year and 6 months for good behavior."
Some insignificant part of him said that he should be glad that his lawyer managed to convince the judge to reduce his sentance from 10 years to 3 years, but what did that matter when his life was ruined? He was barely scrapping by, being paid so little by that damn school that he could barely afford that apartment, and that's not even getting into the disrespect he got from both the students and the other teachers.
He deserved more than this; he nearly made a fortune on weapons development, only to back out when his wife was pregnant, only to then find out that the baby wasn't his which caused him to divorce her for both cheating on him and cheating him out the millions that he could have made if he hadn't back out. Despite that, he still had enough money to live a good life until one fateful trip to Las Vegas where he lost almost all of it on some stupid game of Roulettes. After that, it was all downhill from there, robbing a bank so that he wouldn't end up on the street, and living off that until he moved to Rever Bay.
And now here he was, forced to sit and rot in a prison cell for the next year to three years, robbed of any chance of repairing his creditability until he's released from this horrid place.
After that mental tirade, Ben merely laid down on his cell bed as they turned off the lights for the night.
XXX
1 week later...
Slop splattered on his tray from the hideous lunch ladies, the inmate next to him nudging him to keep moving, a cup of hot mushroom soup then came next, and finally a piece of bread.
That was his meal. The only solace he had was that the other prisoners got the same meal as he did, forcing them to suffer same as him, but that was hardly helpful when the other prisoners seemed to have gotten used to it.
But food was food.
Those were his thought as he sucked down the mushroom soup like it was his last meal, the smell of despair bolting to his nose, when it was finally empty much to his relief. The bland tasting slop was far more bearable, even if it unpleasantly reminded him of baby food, though it was still filling especially after eating that last piece of bread.
After the next ring sounded, the prisoners were given their recess time. The grounds were everything one would see in a prison; the inmates playing sports, exercising, or watching others do both.
Irons, in the meanwhile, was merely content to just sit by himself and read the book that the prison granted him. However, much to his displeasure, another prisoner sat beside him, for some ungodly reason.
Hesitantly turning to face the prisoner, Irons was surprised to find that the prisoner was a college student. Barely out of his twenties with a mousy appearance, having brown curly hair, blue eyes, and a broken nose judging from the bandages covering it.
"Um, hey?" The inmate meekly started, before flinching at Irons' deadpan stare, "Look, I get I might be annoying, but please I'm desperate for someone to talk to someone."
"Then talk to someone else." Irons bluntly replied before turning his eyes back to his book.
The inmate flinched again before deciding to bite, "If you don't mind me asking, how'd you end up here?"
Irons didn't look up from his book as he replied, "Aggravated assault. You?"
"...Murder." The inmate admitted lamely, "My ex came at me with a knife, and I was forced to kill her to defend myself. The courts sentenced me to 5 years, but it feels like I've been here for ten years."
Irons' frown deepened when he heard that. Seems like it would be even less pleasant if he just lost his temper once.
"Oh, I forgot." The inmate clapped his hands together, before extending a hand, "My name is Nathan. Nathan Morter."
Irons reluctantly shook the kid's hand and replied, "Benjamin. Benjamin Irons."
Suddenly, he coughed harshly, putting a hand to his mouth as he continued to cough. Feeling something wet on his hand, the prisoner removed his hand, only to gasp.
His palm was covered in blood. He didn't have time to ponder it as the coughing continued, harsher and harsher to where he nearly fell from how hard he was coughing.
"Dude, are you okay?!" Nathan immediately went to his side, patting him on the back.
"Get... a... doctor..." Irons choked out before he fell to the ground, getting the attention of the other prisoners as Nathan raced towards one of the guards before he blacked out.
XXX
Northhurst State Penitentiary: Medical Wing
Irons groaned as he opened his eyes, finding himself in a hospital bed as some nurses tended to him. They appeared concerned while the doctor came in and showed them some papers, causing them to gain shocked expressions and looked at him in worry.
He was dead tired as they rolled him to somewhere, like he was in desperate need of surgery. A while later, he finally awoke to the doctors looking over him with an inquisitive eye before he opened a folder, and everything changed.
The doctor had a horrified expression as he looked over the scan sheets in front of him, "What the fuck is this? This is unbelievable! How did you make it here?" He turned to the confused Ben before looking it over again, "There's a piece of metal stuck in your body. I can't believe you're still alive! What genius inserted it? You'll die if it is removed."
Irons blinked in surprise as the doctor showed him an X-ray of his torso, revealing a piece of metal near his stomach the size of a golf ball. It didn't seem to be in his organs but covering a part of his stomach, seeming like it was just sitting their benignly.
"Well, I think we'll keep you in solitary for a few days." The doctor prescribed, writing down on his clipboard, "The metal seems benign, but let's take it lightly."
Irons merely sat back in the bed as he mentally quoted to himself, "The city architects are duly remembered by history, while the true laborers are immortalized a different way. Many lay trapped beneath its streets for all time."
A nurse took a blood sample from his arm as he sat there stoically, only for her to flinch when she noticed that Irons had suddenly gained molten orange eyes.
XXX
2 days later...
Northhurst State Penitentiary: Solitary Confinement Wing
Solitary wasn't as horrible as he expected; nobody to bother him, nobody to randomly come up to him, and himself to talk to. Thankfully, they let him keep his book so he could be kept busy during this 2 weeklong confinement.
The room was slightly more spacious than other solitary confinement cells, but the lack of noise and things to do was slowly getting to him. As he stayed however, Irons noted that there some things growing out of his arm almost like nails or shrapnel, almost like they were spines or quills.
He attempted to pull one out, only for it to break off and cause him to yelp in pain. Irons sharply inhaled through clenched teeth as he shook his arm in an attempt to shake the pain off, and then laid back on the bed. The prisoner looked at his mutated arm dully as he was still buzzed on the tranquilizers that they doped him up on in the medical wing, before he just tried to get some sleep.
In his sleep, the teacher heard a voice that wasn't his, "The worst crimes aren't committed by the body; they are invented in the mind. The urge to kill is the purest evil and suppressing it only lasts so long. Dr. Killjoy realized this."
The moment he awoke, Irons felt a sharp pain in his arm, raising it only for him to let out a yell of horror when he saw it. It was less like an arm and more like a facsimile of one composed of scrap metal, bolts, cables, and mechanical parts which terminated in thick curved claws like sabers that twitched and bent like fingers. It twitched and seized as Irons brushed against the metal along his arm with his non affected hand, having a horrified expression on his face as his mind started reeling, wishing that it would just go back to a normal arm.
Suddenly, the metal began receding, folding into each other as flesh flowed back over, revealing a normal human limb.
Iron's dumbfounded expression was worth a thousand words as he examined his arm in shock. Thinking of a theory, he thought of his arm as a massive blade. Just a moment later, the arm deformed, flesh peeling away to reveal metal that shifted and formed into a large simitar-like blade.
The prisoner tested the blade for a moment before he then got an idea. Irons placed the tip of the blade on the slide port and thought of the blade turning into a bunch of wires.
Sure enough, the tip of the blade unfurled into a series of wires that slithered through the slide ports and out in the open. Their wriggling letting Irons 'see' the outside of his cell, before he noticed that one guard was turning a corner and coming this way.
The guard saw the wires retreat back into cell, breaking into a sprint. Irons quickly willed his arm back to normal and quickly laid back down onto his bed, putting his book up so that it looked like he was reading.
"Hey!" A shout and the sound of a baton banging against the bars of a cell rang out, snapping him out of his fake thoughts. Irons calmly sat up and went to the door where the guard slid the port open to reveal his angry face.
"Yes, officer?" Irons asked calmly.
The guard however suddenly looked around oddly before he closed the port and then opened the cell, looking around again like he'd seen a ghost before he asked Irons, "Where the hell are the wires?"
Irons raised in eyebrow in fake confusion, "What wires?"
"The wires that..." The guard trailed off as there was no sign of any wires in the cell, and just gave up with an aggravated sigh, "Whatever. Good night, Irons." And with that the guard closed the doors, leaving Irons to his lonesome.
The inmate merely looked at his arm and gave a smirk before he laid back down and went to sleep.
XXX
1 month later...
Northhurst State Penitentiary: Cell Block C
Several prisoners yelling and screaming made for a surprisingly nice sleep, even if it left him thinking about some odd creature that looked like a bull wreathed in smoke and shadows. It wasn't long before the dreams were frequent, giving him ideas of how to exploit the other prisoners for his own benefit. Another figure in his dreams seemed like a dragon sitting in a massive forge where its minions worked.
Irons awoke to the sound of the guards running their mouths off to the prisoners, robotically getting out of bed and standing at his cell door before they opened, but to his surprise, the guard first went to another cell first.
The occupant was a dark-skinned man with a shaved head, who the guard came up to as the former stepped out of his cell.
"Today's the day, Harold." The guard told him, placing some cuffs on him and leading him out of the cell and into the corridor where a priest was waiting.
"Have fun in hell, Harold." Irons insulted the inmate as they passed him by, nearly causing the man to lash out but the guard merely struck him with his baton before glaring at him.
"Shut your mouth, Irons!" The guard yelled at him, before they continued walking off to wherever they were talking the criminal.
"Seems like the men have been busy." Ben muses as he looks over his arm, letting it shift to metal for a brief few seconds, noticing the progression of the iron coming nearly to the shoulder, "In the end none of it matters: the size of our family, how much we have, or who we count as friends. In the end, we all die alone. It's not death I fear, it's dying here."
Thankfully, none of the other prisoners seemed to notice that as he shifted his arm back to normal, moving in line as they all marched out of their cells and walked to the showers and then to the cafeteria, and then to the grounds where they were free to walk around.
Irons merely used this time to just wander around the place before he heard the sound of someone making a "PSST" sound. Turning around, the former seeing a black heavyset man with a shaved head and heavily tattooed hiding behind a corner of an empty part of the yard.
"Irons." The black prisoner motioned for him to follow, "We got a meeting."
Irons nodded and discretely followed the other prisoner behind the corner, noticing that there were several prisoners all huddled together where the two of them quickly joined in and got down to business.
"Hey, Irons." A Caucasian man with short red hair greeted him, "You got the map?"
"Right here." Irons promptly pulled out a sheet of paper that was drawn in blue, showing the prison's pipelines and corridors, "Also, I managed to memorize the schedules and guard rotations; they change guards every 3 hours, giving us a 10-minute window to act and to get to the pipelines. Be warned, gentlemen, that the pipelines are filled with shit because... well, they're sewage pipes."
The other inmates nodded before one of them asked, "What about the prison riot plan?"
"That's easier but also more complicated." Irons replied, pointing to the Warden's office, "The guards will report it to the Warden and have him seal off the cell block that it's happening in, before he has the guards go in and quell it. It has to be a two-pronged strike; one has to cause a distraction and another to deal with the Warden."
"Shit." The ringleader of the group swore as cupped his chin, thinking about what they sound do before he got an idea, "What if we take out the guards before they alert the Warden?"
"It might work if we can replace some of the guards." Irons replied, pointing to the corridors, "We just need to knock out or kill them, wear their uniforms, give the signal, and you should be home free."
They all nodded, seeing the merit in the plan, the ringleader relayed, "Alright, boys. We got the plan. Now, let's do this."
Irons cleared his throat before they separated, extending an open hand, "My payment, please. Raymond?"
Ray merely grumbled as he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and handed them to Irons, who gave his thanks and pocketed them before the guards saw them. With that done, they quickly dispersed as the guard blew their whistles, signaling the end of recess.
As he marched back to his cell, Irons muttered to himself as he mentally noted, "Inmates all know the story of the slaves locked below deck and devoured by rats. But they also know the true horror lasted 250 years. It continues today, everywhere."
Before they exited the recess ground, Irons noticed Nathan in the crowds and came up behind him. Acting quickly, he lifted the back of Nathan's uniform to reveal his back and shifted his hand into a blade that he then stabbed him in the kidney. Nathan coughed up blood before Irons broke the piece off, letting his hand reform before walking away non suspiciously.
Nathan stumbled before the pain suddenly stopped. He patted the side where it started but found nothing, not even blood. Confused, Nathan just kept walking as he and the others returned to their cells.
XXX
2 weeks later...
Northhurst State Penitentiary
It was time. He made enough pawns. He bided enough of his time. And he had enough of this prison.
Irons merely stood back up from his cell and called out, "Oh, Samuel? Could you come over here please?"
The guard merely gave a confused look before he walked over to the cell. Suddenly, Irons speared the guard's torso, causing the latter to keel before the piece broke off and slithered inside his torso.
Before the guard had a chance to react next, Irons said, "For Hashut."
Suddenly, the guard suddenly began to seizure, flesh splitting open to reveal scrap metal that began sprouting out of the tears and forming into limbs and objects that wrapped around him as his body before blood squeezed out and was converted to more metal, breaking and shaping into something that resembled a minotaur and centaur with molten metal in its veins.
The other guards and prisoners all reacted in horror at the sight of the Taurus before it ripped the cells off, allowing Irons to simply walk out and stare at his creation.
"How about turning the whole world into metal?" Irons said to his construction, "You, me, and all the others. And we can rust the whole world and scatter it into the dust of the universe. Our love can put an end to this fucking world! LET'S GO!"
The Taurus roared skyward and proceeded to charge at the fleeing guards and prisoners, ripping them limb from limb while Irons calmly kept walking. Suddenly, he turned to hear screams and gunfire coming from the other parts of the prison, where his other creations were rampaging through the areas that they had been activated.
Irons then walked through the hole in the wall that was made by another of his creations, watching on the railing as they rampaged through the prison and killed whatever they saw with extreme prejudice.
XXX
Northhurst State Penitentiary: Guards Locker Room
Leif Mitchell had been a guard at Northhurst for 4 years ever since he graduated highschool, so he had been through riots before. But this? This was nothing like he had ever seen before.
The Warden had run into their locker room, screaming at them to get their riot gear and rifles, getting out to the corridors as they came across these... things that looked like they were art pieces of a minotaur and centaur fused together and with their insides filled with molten metal. They resisted every bullet fired at them until they finally went down when the shots tore their heads off, molten metal spilling out and sizzling on the massive pools of blood from the other dead guards and prisoners.
They got the Warden and tore him in half. Nobody would miss him; he was an asshole. The rest of them though quickly lost cohesion and quickly fled through out the prison to try and contain this situation.
Mitchell was spraying and praying while running off, shooting down the Taurus and rioters alike due to the adrenaline rush, trying to both run and survive. But such was his luck when he went through the hole and found himself face to face with the culprit of the riot, Benjamin Irons.
The guard immediately raised his M14 at Irons, who merely raised an eyebrow before Mitchell yelled, "FREEZE!" Irons stopped, remaining calm and stoic, "Now, call off those fucking things and we can talk. What do you want? Money? Escaping?"
"I don't just want money." Irons replied in a cold and mechanical tone, "Destruction is another thing I need."
Mitchell didn't even flinch, keeping his gun trained on Irons, "Then call off those fucking art pieces and I won't fill you with hot lead."
"No, I'm not going to end it with a cheap shot like this." The metal man replied, "What I want, Mitchell, is for you to show the stupid people of this world what life is really like. Brains and blood splattering. That's reality. Come on, destroy all of our lazy peaceful dreams. Awaken to your destiny!
The arm immediately began shifting and morphing with the sounds of bones breaking and flesh tearing, taking the shape of a phallic cannon. Irons aimed it at the guard and mentally commanded the weapon to fire, a deafening boom coming from the arm as it sent a spherical projectile spearing towards the warden and his comrades who came rushing in by coincidence.
It hit the wall behind him, exploding and killing several guards or throwing them to the floor. Mitchell turned and saw it before he fired on Irons. The metal man barely even flinched but were taken down by the force, when his right arm turned to a massive tentacle of cables that swung towards the guard, who backflipped and fired at him.
Ben grinned in unimaginable greed, "Isn't it time?" Suddenly, heavy stomping was heard as the guards turned to see several of his Taurus' running towards Irons, before colliding with him as they suddenly dissolved into masses of cables that wove together into some new horrific shape.
It bulged and pulsed like a heartbeat, metal both liquid and solid flowing and combining into a cohesive entity. A massive arm terminating in several curved bladed hands burst through the mass as did another on the other side, mouths and cables spewing out, mechanical parts forming and combining into limbs and weapons, a face that resembled more of an open maw of metallic saber-like fangs with the interior glowing orange.
Mitchell's reaction was pretty reasonable, "WHAT THE?!"
"OH, MY GOD!" Another reasonably yelled out, in shock and horror.
Another covers his eyes as he muttered, "Ew..."
Another had the most logical reaction, "I HATE IT!"
A voice came out that sounded like wet flesh and scraping metal, "Aren't I... SEXY?"
"You look like melted steel with teeth!"
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF?!"
"Don't you see?" The thing roiled out, "It's what I've always wanted: I've become...MY FFFFFFFFETIIIISH!"
The monster let out a horrible thing that sounded like a laugh. Mitchell didn't wait to find out was about to happen next as he bolted out of the hallway, hearing screams of the guards that were killed by the thing as it tore them apart with whatever it had on itself. He rammed into a door so hard that he tore it off its hinges, too scared to look behind him even as he heard the sounds of scraping and slithering echoing from behind.
Mitchell dived into the nearest door, which happened to lead to another hallway before he managed to scramble back to his feet and continue running as he saw a tentacle made of chunky liquid steel smash through the door. He kept running through the hallway in a blind panic, looking back to see that the tentacle was feeling around the room trying to find him.
Seeing that he had a chance to escape, Mitchell raised towards whatever the furthest room to him was even as he had kick open doors, tackle other guards or prisoners out of his way, even running to the point where it felt like the bones in his legs would give out.
Finally, he reached the room where he was hoping to reach, the Warden's office.
Busting though the door, Mitchell quickly closed it and blocked it off with a nearby bookshelf, breathing a sigh of relief as he plops down on the floor, leaning back against the Warden's desk. However, the sound of screams quickly pierced through the walls, causing him to jump. Voices begging and pleading with whatever was out there to spare them before they were silenced.
Mitchell tried to drown out the screams, but they just kept coming and were silenced with the same wet ripping sound that made him sick. So much so, that he finally couldn't take it anymore.
"Oh, I hate my conscience." Mitchell told no one in particular as he forced himself to stand up before he noticed that there was a wide rectangular case on the wall across from him, over it was the message in red: IN CASE OF UPRISING, OPEN CASE. A little bit curious, the guard went over there and opened it, only for his jaw to drop.
Inside was an RPG with several spare rockets.
"What the?!" Mitchell looked at the weapon incredulously, "Who keeps a rocket launcher in their office?!" Another scream rang out before he shook his head, "No, don't question it, Mitchell. It's time to get your head in the game!" The guard quickly got the rocket launcher out before he ripped off part of a curtain and used it as a bandolier for the spare rockets.
After quickly unbarricading the door, Mitchell set out to take Irons down.
He quickly figured out where to look when he saw a massive tentacle made of liquid and solid metal slithering through the corridor. The guard immediately bolted towards whatever vantage point that he could find before he found the stairway to the highest level of the prison, quite literally having to kick the door open to get in the floor.
Mitchell looked around before running to where he heard the screaming the loudest, sprinting past the empty cells while keeping his finger off the trigger so that he wouldn't blast himself to smithereens by accident. When he got there though, Mitchell's mouth opened in shock.
Before him was a massive... thing made out of liquid metal with several mechanical parts sticking out, all have no discernable front or back, several tentacles of liquid and cables forming and unforming at random intervals. The interior was a molten orange as a mouth with hundreds of saber-like fangs formed and roared while four molten metal tongues that swayed listlessly as the rest of its body began to grow uncontrollably.
Mitchell backed away in horror before he forced himself to regain his bravado, asserting himself over his mind and aiming the RPG at the monstrosity in front of him.
"HEY, IRONS!" The guard roared as the thing reared its ugly head towards him, his finger curling over the trigger, "Open wide!"
He pulled the trigger, sending the rocket propelled projectile spearing into Irons' mouth that exploded and burst the whole thing open like a rotten watermelon. It squealed and roared in an attempt to reform only for Mitchell to reload and fire again. It attempted to lash out at the guard, but he fired again, hitting and destroying the arms that it attempted to use.
More rockets hit the massive creature that was Benjamin Irons, losing chunks and chunks of its mass before it attempted to run even as it was still getting hit, ripping off the useless chunks of itself as it grew more and more desperate. Now it was the size of a dump truck and resembled a bull with several lean arms ending in prehensile paws and padded feet that attempted to escape while it could.
Mitchell checked his supply; not counting the one currently loaded into the launcher, he only had two rockets left. He had to make them count. The guard ran through the floor and raced down the stairs, not having a good vantage point due to the things' smaller size, but not before he fired into the things' back to slow it down. The guard managed to barge through to the second level where it was attempting to fit through the door, only to be stopped when Mitchell fired at the back of the head.
It roared and reared its melting head toward him, deforming its head into a massive maw of teeth that tried to bite down on him, only to be met with Mitchell's final rocket that hit its 'heart' for lack of a better word. It roared and squealed, melting until its solid part clanged against the floor before the rest of it melted into a massive puddle of molten iron.
Mitchell panted and stared at the mass that was Irons, hoping it was dead.
Suddenly, a part of the puddle bubbled and flowed together as it took the form of a man, crawling away in an attempt to survive. Mitchell backed away in fear when suddenly, it took the form of Irons who stood up, still in his prison uniform. Despite everything, Irons was still calm and collected.
Before he abruptly formed a detonator in his right hand.
"Let's play one last little game." Irons threatened Mitchel who froze when he raised the detonator, his thumb over the button, "In one minute, I will push this button. You have two choices. Number one: Kill me! That way you save people and the woman you love, but that way the monster is loose. Choice number two: I blow this place to pieces. No more little monster. The world will have peace." He then raised an eyebrow, "Well? Are you ready to ride, cowboy?"
He looked at the detonator and back at Iron's calm and stony expression, trying to think of a way out of this predicament before he noticed that there was a shotgun on one of the bodies that happened to be either fully loaded or empty judging by the lack of empty shells around the body. Looking back at Irons, who was still calm and collected as ever, Mitchell then grabbed the shotgun and fired.
The pellets ripped through Irons' hand, destroying the detonator along with his hand. Irons yelled out in pain before he saw Mitchell.
"Let's ride." The guard boasted, "And let us pray."
Mitchel breathed in and out as he recited a prayer, not knowing or feeling the holy power simmer in his shotgun.
"Breathe in me O Holy Spirit, that my thoughts may all be holy."
Another shot, ripping through Irons' shoulder.
"Act in me O Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy."
Another shot, piercing his side.
"Draw my heart O Holy Spirit, that I love but what is holy."
Another shot, ripping into his knee.
"Strengthen me O Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy."
Another shot, that tore into his gut.
"Guard me then O Holy Spirit, that I always may be holy."
Another shot, tearing into the side of his face.
"Amen."
The final shot pierced the metal heart of the abomination, oil and molten metal spraying out as the last of what used to be Benjamin Irons fell to the ground. Metall blades then suddenly erupted from his remaining arm and pierced through the guard's torso for a brief second before retracting as the body fell dead. Mitchell panted as he felt the blood flow out of his wounds, falling down as the medics came to find him just in the nick of time.
Unseen to any of them, a small part of the abomination broke off and crawled away, liquifying into the drain on the floor.
XXX
Three hours later...
Rever Bay
The piece managed to collect enough metal in the sewers to reconstitute a humanoid form, taken from all kinds of broken parts, rusted mechanical gears, and whatever metallic objects that he could pick up. Forming an arm, he quickly removed the manhole cover over him and crawled out, taking his old shape that was still in his prisoner uniform before he saw the state of the town.
It was practically destroyed; buildings and streets destroyed with several people in red robes, armor, or both, armed to the teeth with either blades or guns or both at once. Chaotic runes and scripture lining vehicles, weapons, clothing, and the tents that made up whatever living quarters were in the area. To make matters stranger, there was a yellow fog that covered the area was so thick that he couldn't see the sky.
Something obviously had gone wrong at Rever Bay.
"What the hell?" Irons breathed out, looking around in shock.
He didn't have time to ponder this, as he heard someone coming towards him. Irons hid in the nearest building that wasn't demolished or a home for the cultists, hiding from a truck fill of marauders that were randomly discharging their weapons in the air while howling like animals. The prisoner merely rolled his eyes before he turned to see a staircase with a message scrapped onto the wall.
GO UPSTAIRS, IRONS was written with a diagonal arrow pointing upwards. Below it was a message that read: TRUST ME.
Raising an eyebrow, the follower of Hashut slowly ascended the stairs, noting the old wood composition was noticeably stronger than normal. He noticed to that it suddenly became very quiet with the only sounds being his footfalls being audible. Every floor he passed had no occupants, every room was void of any kind of decorations, paintings, or furniture, and everything was covered in dust.
By the time he reached the door to the roof, Irons suddenly felt a degree of hesitation as he wrapped his hand around the knob. He inhales and exhales, easing the tension in him before he turned the knob and opened it.
The roof was empty, save for the two chairs on the edge that overlooked the setting sun. And one of them happened to be occupied by someone. The one who was sitting suddenly stood up and turned to him.
It was Ian.
He had changed since Irons was sent to prison: he was now gaunt and thin, nearly showing his bones with his skin and hair chalk white, the latter part having grown to his shoulders. His eyes were yellow and his sclera black, his hands were covered in blood, and his left calf had bandages wrapped around it. He was dressed in a white long sleeve shirt under a white open bathrobe, white pants, and white shoes.
Ian's expression haunted him most of all, it was stoic yet sad. Like he knew what he had done but was still sad regardless.
Irons' expression softened when he saw Ian, asking sincerely, "Ian, what's wrong?"
"Rust the world." Was Ian's only reply.
Remembering that he said that back at Northhurst, Irons blinked in surprise, "Do did you-"
"I just do." Ian bluntly replied, his expression stony as he pulled out a .44 magnum from his waistband and cocked the hammer. There were no words needed; Ian wouldn't let him do this, not now and not ever.
"Half as long..." Irons trailed off, a sorrowful expression overtaking his face.
"...Twice as bright." Ian finished as he raised the .44 Magnum to Irons, a firm but sorrowed expression crossing his face, "I gotta try."
"I know..." Ben told the one student that tolerated him.
A moment of silence passed before Ian pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into Irons' side, piercing the iron under his skin as he was sent staggering. Realizing that Ian would not be swayed, Irons, with a heavy heart, raised his fists for the fight to come.
He flashstepped towards Ian, who ducked his punch before firing into his elbow, causing Irons' arm to recoil from the impact and for the boy to slug him across the face with a left hook, only to wince at the feeling of punching iron. A smack then came across Ian's face as he was sent back, while Irons grabbed the revolver and aimed it at Ian.
Time slowed: Ian gaining a shocked expression while Irons closed his eyes and turned away, pulling the trigger. A gunshot rang out, and another, and another, and another, and another.
Ian stumbled back until he fell to the ledge of the roof, bleeding from the five gunshots that just adorned his torso. Irons walked up to him, dropping the revolver and leaning down, having a sad expression as he said, "I didn't want to do this, Ian. But you left me no choice."
"Not really." Ian grunted. Suddenly, his eyes glowed before Irons suddenly found himself smashed against the entrance to the roof and impaled through the chest by a bandage that was straightened to where it resembled a flat black tendril with glowing yellow markings. The Hashutcian man was shocked to see that Ian had suddenly changed before the sense he had gained from the Father of Darkness, made him realize that thing in front of him wasn't Ian.
The Possessed looked like something he'd never seen before; It resembled a Jester but with a hood instead of a jester's hat, an open collar with a black and yellow checkered pattern, a wolf's hide over the right shoulder, wearing a black garment that resembled both a straight-jacket and a trench coat, a red scarf wrapped around his neck with a long black sash that had dozens of red glowing rune script draped over his shoulders, black boots with belts that reached the knees, black pants, and black gloves. All clothing was organic and pulsed like flesh, moving in sync with his body rather than just sitting on it.
The Possessed then suddenly manifested a halberd-like weapon that resembled a spear with a scythe blade under the spearhead. It brandished the spear before it launched toward Irons, who dodged and turned his arm into a series of cables that attempted to lash out at the Jester, who gracefully dodged and backflipped away while slashing at whatever that he couldn't dodge.
Irons growled and deformed into a mass of liquid metal and gears that quickly formed into a massive minotaur-like shape. The Iron Bull breathed a torrent of fire at the Jester who backflipped off the building, while the others saw the titan of iron and quickly opened fire on the beast as it merely took those shots like they were nothing.
The Iron Bull's back opened to reveal several missiles that immediately launched towards the cultists in droves that explodes, claiming the lives of several hundred cultists that couldn't fight back in time. The Jester appeared before the Iron Bull, the latter roared and deforming his arm into a mass of guns that he fired on the former, who moved around in a blur of pure speed that the Bull couldn't even hit him.
Something in the Iron Bull snapped as the Jester kept avoiding his shots, roaring out in fury as fire and metal projectiles fired out of every part of his body, annihilating the town around him as the cultists stopped trying to fight back and just tried to survive against the hatred filled onslaught. The Iron Bull roared and roared as the onslaught intensified...
...not seeing the Jester standing on top of his head with his halberd poised directly over the back of his head.
The Jester thrust the halberd into the back of the Bull's skull, piercing it and its brain, ceasing the onslaught as the body fell to the ground. Steam and molten metal began pouring out of the open spaces of the Bull's body as a heavily wounded Irons emerged from the wreckage, bleeding profusely as the Jester reappeared before him.
Suddenly, as Iron gaped for breath and tried to stop the bleeding, the Jester turned back to Ian. He had a saddened expression and knelt down, taking him into his arms.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Irons..." Ian whispers as tears came from his eyes as he felt the Jester left his body.
Irons was silent as he laid in Ian's arms when the latter suddenly muttered out, "Revelation 14:7: Fear God, and give glory to Him, for the hour of His judgement is come."
Ben smiled, leaning into Ian's side, glad that at least he wasn't going die alone.
"You're not that bad, kid..." Irons smiled before he laid limp in Ian's arms, who sobbed as he held the one person who he considered a friend as he died.
Such was the closing minutes of Benjamin Irons, dreaming so high yet falling so far.
Ian: Freak turned Oracle
(Warning: This segment has some pretty heavy content. If you can't handle the themes of mental trauma and loved ones in pain, skip to the end.)
Ian let out a massive gasp as his eyes shot open, revealing to him that he was still in his room. The teenager looked around as he sat up, gripping the bedsheet close to his chest as his expression became one of fear. Ian slowly got out of his bed and felt everything around him, confirming in his neurotic mind that they were in fact real and not some products of his mind.
He went to the upstairs bathroom, and promptly washed his face with water hoping to forget what he just dreamed about. It was weird; he and several other kids from school and Mr. Irons were at the Gold Mine, and then there was this mass of glowing teal crystals that Irons took a sample of. Then security got to them, and they had to bail into Matt's van before they could be sent to jail.
And then the mine exploded, and they all blacked out.
Ian breathed out and splashed more water on his face, shaking off the feelings of dread that suddenly came over him and just brushing it off as another one of his crazy dreams.
"IAN!" The teenager nearly jumped out of his skin upon hearing his mother call him, "ARE YOU AWAKE?!"
"Um, um, um," Ian stammered, before he called out, "Yeah, mom! I'm up!"
"Come downstairs!" His mother shouted, "Something happened at the mine!"
That set off a lot of alarm bells in Ian's head, wondering what the hell could have happened at the mine when they left. Was it the same as his dream? Gulping, Ian walked out of his room and walked downstairs to where his parents were sitting on the couch in front of the TV.
He looked at them in confusion before it hit him when he turned to the TV.
The TV showed several videos from the mines, dragging out tractors and vehicles with their occupants fused with the interior, red hot rocks, and an iridescent aura of light. Several shots showed the crystals that he had uncovered being wheeled away into trucks.
"Breaking News!" A female reporter came on the news, shuffling her papers while the scenes from the mine was shown on the side, "A massive explosion in Rever Bay gold mine rocked the small fishing town last night, resulting in the deaths and injuries of several miners. Out in the mine is our very own, Max Dorsey. Max?"
"Thank you, Tamara." Max Dorsey replied as he motioned to the destroyed mine behind him, "A grisly scene hit Rever Bay's gold mine last night as a massive explosion rocked the mine, killing several workers and disfiguring and injuring several more. The source of the explosion and any signs of the explosion being manmade has yet to be identified. The mine has been cordoned off from the public as government radiation workers are being called in to investigate the mine for signs of lethal radiation. A statement regarding the statis of the mine will be released following the investigation."
Ian opened and closed his mouth randomly, as he stared dumbstruck at the screen. If the mine really did explode, then did all that really happen? Would they find out that they had broken in and found out that they found the mass of crystals?
Amy came downstairs just seconds later, looking bored with her eyes on her phone. "Morning..." The words died in her mouth when she looked up from her phone and saw the newscast, putting her hands to her mouth in horror.
As Ian and his family took in the news of the explosion at the mine, one question plagued the former.
What happens now?
XXX
1 day later...
Raymond's Pharmacy
Ian quietly entered the pharmacy, hood over his head as he tried to keep himself as unseen as possible while keeping him dry from the heavy rain outside. Mostly due to his shyness and fear of social interactions, Ian just wanted to go in and get his medication as fast as possible before he attracted any attention. His dad was in the parking lot, where he told Ian to just tell the one at the desk his name and he'd get the medication.
After getting through the few other people in the isles that were just travelling through, Ian finally reached the pharmacy desk, where a likely underpaid worker was standing, having short dark hair and heavy bags under his brown eyes.
"Hello, sir. Can I help you?" The pharmacist asked in a robotic tone like he was reading off a script.
Ian mumbled as he tried to not make a scene, quietly asking, "Yes, do you have any medication for an 'Ian Halls?'"
The pharmacist nodded and went back to get the medication, leaving Ian alone to wait for him to come back. Ian looked behind him and saw that the pharmacy had very few customers, but the others were more like they were just grabbing whatever food they could grab and head out before it got dark. Ian raised an eyebrow in confusion but kept his fear in as he tried to be patient.
A few minutes later, the pharmacist came back with a white paper bag that held his medicine bottle inside. Ian took it and gave the pharmacist the money for the pills, quickly getting out of there before something happened.
Unfortunately, something did happen as he got out of the front doors of the pharmacy.
The moment he stepped out, he was grabbed by the shoulder and dragged away, the assailant forcing him to behind the store before he was thrown to the ground, shielded from the rain due to them still being under the concrete ceiling of the outside. His assailant was one that he never wanted to see.
It was Derek Etler, one of the worse bullies in high school. He was a 6.0 ft. tall, having a shaved crewcut, blue eyes, and three silver earrings on his right ear. The bully was wearing a grey shirt under a leather jacket, blue jeans, and black leather shoes. In his hands was a knife in the right and a bottle of blue pills in the other, and the grin of his face was anything but welcoming.
This man had been bullying him for the last two years, beating him up, stealing his backpack, and even ripping up his homework. It was only at the end of last year that Derek pushed him too far and he played a sound clip of him bullying him in front of the class that it finally stopped.
"Hey, Ian." Derek said with a fake friendly tone, "What's up? What are you doing at the pharmacy?"
Ian stammered out, before coming up with a lie, "I was just getting medicine for my grandma."
"Oh, what a nice thing to do." Derek's fake tone continued before it turned into an angry one, "Unlike when you played that sound clip last year. After that, the humiliation only continued; my parents banned me from using the car, my brother stopped talking to me, and my girlfriend broke up with me. And now everyone at school looks at me like I'm a freak!"
He then stomped on Ian's chest, causing him to cry out in pain before he continued, "I'M NOT A FREAK! YOU ARE A FREAK! MY FAMILY IS RICH! I CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT AND YOU'RE JUST SOME PISS POOR PEASANT!"
He kept stomping on Ian, hoping that he'd break something in the process.
"YOU'RE A LOSER! A FREAK! A DISGUSTING FUCK!" Derek bellowed since nobody was around to see him, pinning Ian to the ground by the neck as the latter struggled against his grip, "I'M WINNING AT LIVE! YOU'RE LOSING! AND YOU'RE GONNA KEEP LOSING!"
Using all of his strength, the bully pinned the struggling Ian to the ground and forced his mouth open before then pouring the contents of the medicine bottle into his mouth and then closing it and forcing him to swallow all the pills. Just as the dozens of blue pills were forcefully shoved down his throat and into his cut, Ian choked and tried to fight back but Derek kept him down despite his struggles.
Finally, the pills reached his stomach, causing him to dry-heave as his body attempted to get them out of his system. Derek then pinned him to the ground with his knee while he grinned sadistically, before he proceeded to ram his fists into Ian's face, not stopping even as he started to bleed from the mouth and when his head was busted open when he used a discarded roller skate to hit him with.
Ian tried to cry out for help, but Derek put his hand over his mouth to keep him silent before he continued to punch him across the face until he was sure Ian would get a concussion from this, that is if he lived. But now he had his fun. Time to finish this.
Derek picked up the knife, cleaning it off on his shirt to that it wouldn't leave any fingerprints for the cops to find. With that done, Derek grinned while raising the knife high to skewer Ian with it. He yelled as he thrust the knife down... only for Ian to catch it with one arm, grabbing him by the wrist.
Derek's eyes went wide as he tried to force the knife down, but Ian's other hand then grabbed the hand that he had the knife in, stopping him from dropping the knife and using his other hand to stab him with. The two struggled and struggled, before Ian kneed Derek in the stomach before the struggle caused the knife to slash Derek's cheek open.
The teenager cried out in agony, holding his bleeding face as he yelled and cried, "YOU FUCKER!" He then ran away from Ian, crying out in pain.
Meanwhile, with Ian's father, Frank was still waiting in the car, tapping his fingers into the wheel in an attempt to alleviate the boredom, so much so that he didn't notice Derek Etler running through the parking lot, holding his bleeding cheek. However, conveniently turning to the left, Frank saw something that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
It was Ian, having a bloodied lips and his face split open and bleeding, foaming from the mouth, puking up blood and bile that stained his shirt.
Ian stumbled against the wall of the building for support before a bout of nausea crashed into him and he attempted hurl onto the ground, but nothing came out. A scream came to his ears as he saw a teenage girl, whose eyes were wide and her hands to her mouth in horror, while the other customers all had horrified looks on their faces. His father's eyes bulged out of his head, and he quickly bolted from the car and ran through the wet parking lot to where his son collapsed, screaming out in panic, "IAN?! IAN?!"
Little did he know, Matt Konover was watching the whole thing and quickly called 911 just as Ian's father raced towards his son, who fell into his father's arms.
XXX
An ambulance raced through the streets of Rever Bay, causing the other cars to stop to let it pass as the driver tried his best to get them to the nearest hospital. In the vehicle, a paramedic was working on Ian, putting bandages over his face to stop the bleeding and then fed him an ipecac to include vomiting to that they could get whatever was in his stomach out while it was still in his stomach.
Meanwhile, his father was near hysterical. Several years in the military could never had prepared him for the situation he found himself in; his son lying down in an ambulance, barely conscious, and bleeding as the paramedics tried their best to stop the blood. Ian's pupils were dilated, showing that he was under the effects of something.
"Hey, when did you give him Morphine?" Frank asked the paramedic, who gave a confused look before he noticed Ian's eyes.
"I haven't given him anything." The paramedic said as he continued to add the boy, "His pupils dilated when we got here. He was drugged with something, something that I had to induce vomiting to get out so he wouldn't die."
Frank was gobsmacked, "What was in him?"
"We'll find that out when we get to the hospital." Was all that the paramedic replied as he was about to hook Ian up to an IV.
"Dad?" All thoughts from Frank were silenced when Ian weakly asked out loud, looking barely awake and sounding like he was hanging at the edge of death.
"Ian!" Frank exclaimed, "Don't worry! We're on our way to the hospital! You'll be fine!"
"I..." Ian struggled to talk, looking like it was taking every ounce of his will to stay awake, even when blood came from his mouth again.
"What, Ian? What is it?!" Frank tried to get a response from his son, who seemed to be struggling to stay awake.
"I..." He continued to struggle, his eye twitching and his pupil expanding and contracting randomly as his strength seemed to be fading.
"Just say it, Ian! What?!" Frank yelled, putting his hands to Ian's shoulders. Ian coughed and coughed, before with the last of his strength and willpower spoke four words that would stick to Frank for the rest of his life.
"I love you, dad."
And with a cough of blood, Ian laid back on the gurney, bleeding and foaming from the mouth as the heartrate monitor flatlined.
"IAN? IAN?!" His father cried out as he grasped Ian's shoulders, gently shaking him in a vain attempt of trying to stir his son awake with tears coming down his eyes, "WAKE UP!"
"Get back!" The paramedic pushed the father back before yelling to the driver, "Punch it! We're losing him!" The driver slammed onto the gas pedal, ramping up the speed of the ambulance while the paramedic started to perform CPR on Ian.
In the back, his father watched as they attempted to revive his son, his devastated expression worth a million words.
XXX
3 days later...
Robinson Family Hospital
The news of Ian's hospitalization caused quite the waves through the town of Rever Bay, but the things going on in the mines were of more concerns. Ian's family was understandably devastated by the incident, nearly spending every day in the hospital to see their son laying in that bed hooked up to a multitude of machines to keep him alive.
His father, Franklin Halls was devastated as he had experienced it firsthand. He coped by going to the bar and drowning his sorrows in alcohol while his buddies in the army looked on in sympathy, even the bartender offered him drinks on the house when he heard what happened to Ian. One of his friends happened to work at the hospital, but they couldn't get a read on Ian's current condition yet, but he's stable at the very least, for whatever that was worth.
His mother, Jane Halls, took it the hardest. She was nearly catatonic after hearing her son had been hospitalized, which only grew worse when she saw the state her son was in while at the hospital. She had built a shell cover herself that was near impenetrable, only coming out of it whenever her son was brought up.
Amy was almost as devastated as her mother. Her brother meant everything to her, seeing him in a state where he couldn't move, talk, or even think disquieted her beyond words. She could barely sleep, always dreaming about her brother and the state that she saw him in, laying in that hospital bed and needing an apparatus to eat and breath, a tube connected to a bag of water so he wouldn't get dehydrated. A sensation of sickness filled her whenever she thought about him, wanting to cry but had too much grief to vent.
Now they were at Robinson Family Hospital, sitting in the waiting room and waiting for the doctor to come for Ian's prognosis.
Thankfully, the doctor came in, just as they started to get impatient. This was Dr. Dan Phillips. He was a 40-year-old man with short brown hair, tired eyes under a pair of glasses, wearing a standard white dress shirt and a black tie, and beige pants and brown shoes. A nurse named Katherine was beside him, who was a rather beautiful woman with brown hair and blue eyes and having scrubs on.
"Hello, sir, ma'am." The doctor greeted the grieving family, "I have good news and better news. Ian's condition has improved, so much so we're sure he'll be awake, soon. And the better news is that the toxicity in his blood has been cleared. Meaning, if we are lucky, he should be out of the hospital in a few days."
Relief seemed to wash over the family: Amy hugging her father and nearly sobbing into his chest, Frank looked like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and Jane's shell cracked as an expression of joy came over her face. Dr. Philips smiled too while Katherine looked happy for them too.
After that, the doctor led the family to the elevator and to the third floor. As they ascended, the three in the family had nervous expressions that began to adorn their faces.
Amy fidgeted, folding her hands together as she thought of what to do when they see Ian as he is now. Her brother, while not always seeing eye to eye with him, meant everything to her especially when he managed to help her through her depression due to all the bullying she received in her freshman year. When his mental problems hit, she was always there for him, even when it seemed hopeless. Without him... she didn't know what to do.
Jane had similar feelings to her daughter, dreading what could come with her son. When Ian was born, it was like a light had been shined onto her and Frank, even moreso when they had Amy a year later. When she was depressed after her parents kicked her out of the house, Jane had her son and daughter to keep with her while Frank was away at the army. Thankfully, he came back just a year later, and they could be a family again. If Ian died, she would barely be able to go on, though Frank and Amy may help.
Frank tried to remain stoic but was failing at the memory of Ian in the ambulance. He remembered what happened after Ian was born, he went directly to his old man to with the news and that he was moving away. Suffice to say, due to their relationship, his father flipped the table and told him that he'll never be twice the man he was. After that, he never saw his old man again until his deathbed. Ian and Amy were the only thing that made his military career worth it. With Ian like this... he didn't know how to react.
They were all snapped out of their thoughts when the elevator doors parted to reveal a typical hospital floor with green walls and white floor, where the several hospital workers were helping or assisting patients, with some of the patients being wheeled for surgery on a gurney and wheelchairs.
Amy moved out of the way from an elderly woman in a wheelchair being wheeled to her room before continuing to walk to Ian's hospital room, finally arriving to room 333. Before they opened the door, Dr. Philips warned them of something as he put up a finger for warning, "Before we go in, I must warn that Ian has just come back from surgery after having been treated for blood toxicity. So, he may be rather loopy when he wakes up. Not to mention the state he's in."
The three all look at each other before they all nod. Dr. Philips nodded back and then turned the knob, opening the door wide enough for them to enter. They did so with fear, dreading the sight of Ian's sickly form in the bed like a corpse awaiting surgery. The room was spacious with white walls and wooden floor, a large window that showed the buzzing town, a door to the bathroom on the right side closed off by a polished wooden door, and on the left was the hospital bed where Ian laid.
Ian was still asleep, lying in the hospital bed with the left side of his forehead bandaged up, his eyes bruised but not swelled, a split lip, a stitched-up cut sticking out from the side of the bandages, his arms were entirely bandaged with an IV hooked to the left, sensors on his chest hooking him to the machines around him, with the rest of him covered in a hospital gown or the bed's blanket.
Amy put her hands to her mouth as tears began to form in her eyes, looking like she was going to cry at seeing her brother in such a state. Jane didn't even try to hid her tears, burying herself in her husband's chest at seeing her baby boy being in such a horrible state. Frank was barely composed, tears coming down his cheeks as he held his crying wife in his arms, the state of Ian nearly breaking his heart.
Dr. Philips put a sympathetic hand on Frank's shoulder, "I cannot imagine what any of you are going through." He then sighed and gave his examinations, "Ian was discovered to have a foreign substance in his blood that is currently being examined. We are awaiting the results to come in."
Jane sobbed before she shook her head and asked, "What happened to him? Frank just said he saw him stumble through the parking lot before the ambulance arrived."
"From the concussion to the bruises around his face, we believe that someone assaulted him before force-feeding him whatever substance we found." Dr. Philips explained with a sorrowed expression as he pulled up a sheet, "He had a Grade-2 concussion, his forehead was split open and required stitches. Multiple bruises around the face and chest, his ribcage took the brunt of the damage. And a cracked skull, thankfully the crack is so thin that it shouldn't require stitches. I believe whoever attacked him intended to kill him."
Shock went through the family, Jane looking between crying again and trying to kill whatever she saw in motherly fury, "What kind of... animal would do this?!" Frank restrained her from doing anything crazy, but Amy sat down, looking ready to cry.
"Ma'am, I truly do not know." Dr. Philips sighed in defeat, feeling sorry for the family, "If you wish to know more, the police may be-"
A groan came bubbling from Ian's throat, causing all noise to die as they all turned to see Ian slow open his eyes. He groaned and tried to sit up, failing as his grip was too weak.
The group stared in shock, except the doctor who merely had a surprised expression. Ian woke up faster than he thought.
"IAN!" Amy jumped out of her chair and practically bearhugged her brother, unintentionally knocking the wind out of him and causing him to cough up a storm. His fingers brushed her shoulders before he leaned into her, causing Amy to tighten her grip with tears in her eyes.
"Amy, Amy, let the doctor examine him." Frank got through to her and got her to let go, letting Dr. Philips come to his side and examine the poor boy.
"Give him a few minutes." Dr. Philips assured the family as he helped the dazed Ian sit up, "He may still in dazed from the tests and change in diet."
A minute or two later, he seemed to be breathing properly, laying back down with the upper part of the bed elevated so he was sitting up. He mumbled something that they couldn't hear, causing them to lean in so that they could hear what he was trying to say.
However, what came out of his mouth next was something that no one expected.
"Come what, come may, hear what the Hanged King has to say."
Everyone stared at Ian in utter bewilderment before the nurse muttered, "Doctor, I think you were too generous with the blood drawing."
Having a bewildered expression, Dr. Philips produced and shined a light into Ian's eyes, the pupils dilated at the light. He then silently pondered what was going on before he asked the boy, while holding up three fingers, "Ian, how many fingers am I holding up?"
Ian stared at the doctor's hand before speaking again in riddles, "Three towers, three trees, all the hospital workers buzzing like bees."
The doctor looked to his three raised fingers before he mumbled as he cupped his chin in thought, "Well, he not wrong..." He then looked to Ian's concerned family and motioned to the door, "Mr. and Mrs. Halls, could you please wait outside? You too, Amy. Nurse, please stay here and keep an eye on him. I am going to check with the labs."
The family looked at each other before reluctantly relenting and walking out of the room with the doctor behind them, leaving nurse Katherine to look over Ian.
She petted the side of his face intending for comfort, causing him to lean his head into her hand, moaning as she ruffled his hair. His eyes turned to her, causing her to flinch. His eyes had a glossy look to them, reminding her of many opium addicts she had to treat after overdoses or from the police bringing them to the hospital, but his seemed like they were an abyss that never ended.
"Mother." Ian abruptly spoke, gaining the woman's attention with a confused expression, "You lost your mother, and her restless ghost haunts you still as does your other."
Katherine's eyes bulged, looking as if she was struck with a hammer but Ian continued, "Katherine, what was the spark that formed the rift? Was it your lover John and his band of football players in college before he died on that cliff? Was it when she caught you sleeping with another woman in that bed? Or was it when you didn't get the dream job you cravenly sought instead? Or was it when you turned to hospital work when you failed to get your doctorate and became a nurse? Or was it when you never said goodbye that started the curse?"
Utterly flabbergasted by his knowledge of her past, Katherine stuttered out in shock and disbelief, "How do you know about my mother?"
"I heard the buzzing voices speak in the plain of unreality." Ian spoke in a deadpan tone, before he put a hand on hers, "You seek her almighty love when you had that love in who you were, not who you tried to be. She loved you like she always did, even on her last day with thee. But you were so worried about your mother's approval, that you became something that you hated. Stop hating yourself and be what you had abated."
He put another hand on hers, "She lies stinking in the earth while her soul is with the man gave helped bring you into the world above. You will never earn the angel's approval as you did when she was alive and filled with love. Give it up. Let it go."
Katherine looked down before she sincerely asked the seemingly wise man, "What about my job here at the hospital?"
"Do you want to quit?" He bluntly asked, his expression deadpan.
She stared at him for a second before replying, "No..."
"Then don't." Ian bluntly replied, putting her hand into his, "Just keep living your love."
Touched by his kind words, Katherine gave a small smile as she ruffled his hair, "Thanks, Ian."
Outside however, the mood was far less happy. The Halls family was waiting for the doctor to come back with the test results after one nurse came to get him as said results just came in. While Frank and Jane managed to keep their composure, Amy was pacing around, nearly hysterical as Ian's words kept echoing in her head with a tone that was almost as empty as his eyes.
"Come what, come may, hear what the Hanged King has to say."
What the hell does that mean? What is the Hanged King? Why did he say it in rhyme? WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON?! Amy tried to rationalize what was wrong with her brother and what he meant by the Hanged King before she saw Dr. Philips coming back with several papers in his hands, looking over them with a worried expression before he saw that they were sitting there.
"Mr. and Mrs. Halls, we..." Dr. Philips trailed off as he kept taking in the sheets in his hands, "We got the results back but they're..." He put a hand to his head as he had a horrified expression on his face.
"Doctor, what's wrong with my son?" Frank stood up as he saw the expression on the doctor's face, Jane and Amy both starting to get worried too.
Dr. Philips stammered and tried to break this to them nicely, "Well, you see... the foreign substance in his blood-"
"Doctor!" Frank cut Dr. Philips off, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him close to where their noses were touching, repeated, "WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY SON?!"
"...Your son seems to be suffering from Methamphetamine Psychosis." The doctor relented, the shock on the faces of Ian's family palpable as he continued, "When he was in the ambulance, the paramedics had his stomach pumped and discovered several amphetamine pills that were half digested. Someone force-fed him the pills. We were lucky to get them out of his system when we did. However, I've never seen a case this bad before."
Frank's grip slackened as he looked close to fainting as did his wife while their daughter looked like she was about to burst into tears, "Is... isn't there anything you can do for him?" She asked naïvely, hoping beyond anything that the doctors could do something for her twin brother.
"We'll try everything we can, but this form of psychosis resists most forms of treatment." The doctor put a hand on Amy's shoulder but was still direct, "And to make matters worse; due to the large quantity of pills that he was forced to indigest, there's a strong chance that Ian can't be cured."
Amy couldn't hold back her tears as she buried herself into the doctor's chest, sobbing loudly as her mother did the same with her husband, who barely seemed to be holding it together himself. The other staff around them could not help but to look on in pity for the tragedy that had been inflicted on this family.
XXX
2 days later...
Rever Bay High School
School wasn't the same for Amy when she came back; others looked at her with pity in their eyes, teachers offering her counseling in case things got too much for her, even Matt gave her a pat on the back when they met during the transition to classes. Amy just kept her head down and mouth shut, trying to shut out the world so that she could get through the day and go home to cry.
Amy managed to relieve some of the grief when she spoke to Mrs. Detmer about how much she was hurting when Ian was in the hospital. While Mrs. Detmer couldn't do much, she at least told Amy that she needed to let out her grief if she wished to get help, as cliche as that sounded. It did help though, and she did feel a little bit better that she spoke to someone about it.
But it was not such an easy time for her when she got to the cafeteria.
It was so easy, waiting in line, getting her tray, getting her food, finding a table to sit at and eat in silence with the other kids. But unfortunately, the silence was broken by the worst possible person in the school: Derek Elter.
"Well, well." Derek swaggered up to Amy, having a sadistic expression while she tried to tune him out, "Seems your big brother isn't here to protect you. How'd he get hospitalized again? Oh, right. Overdose. Didn't know your beloved big bro was such a junkie."
The students around them looked like they were barely holding themselves back from beating the crap out of the guy. Even other bullies scowled at his behavior.
"Come on, dude!" Matt scolded him as he got up and walked to the guy, not liking the attitude from Derek, "Her brother is in the hospital! Have some consideration!"
Derek turned away from a squirming Amy to scowl at Matt, "Oh and you got something to say, Matt? What can you say about that huh, Matt?!"
"Oh, really?!" Matt scowled before he decided he was done hiding this secret, "Like how you're the reason why Ian's in the hospital?!"
Silence rang out through the cafeteria as quite literally every single student's gaze turned to Derek upon hearing that, especially Amy who had wide eyes and a slackened jaw at hearing the statement from Matt.
Derek started sweating bullets before trying to deny Matt's claims, "What- what are you talking about? I had nothing to do with-"
"Don't bullshit me!" Matt violently interrupted him, "I saw you at the pharmacy! You held Ian down in the parking lot before you force-fed him methamphetamines!"
Derek, pressured by the truth and the now furious looks directed at him, grinded his teeth and utterly roared out, "SO WHAT?! He was a freak! He would have died alone in some insane asylum! HE'S JUST A FUCKING FREAK!"
That proved to be a breaking point to Matt, who then proceeded to ram his fist into Derek's face and then rammed his other fist into the latter's gut.
The bully upchucked blood and stared on in terror before another punch from Matt knocked him to the floor. Almost immediately after, the students bolted from their seats and piled up on Derek, punching, kicking, stomping, and slamming their fists down on him even as he cried out and begged them to stop but his words fell on deaf ears. Not even the teachers stepped in to stop them as the sounds of the beating intensified.
By the time they were finished beating Derek to a pulp, some of them put their entire weight onto his limbs to prevent him from moving while Mark sat down on Derek's chest and produced a switchblade before snapping the blade open and pressing it to the bully's forehead. Derek wailed out as Mark carved a message into the flesh of his forehead while the others held him down as he struggled.
After they were finished, Derek was a mess of bruises, bones cracked, and bleeding from the mouth, with the message "IAN'S REVENGE" carved into his forehead that bled onto his face. He merely whined from the pain before yelping as a student kicked him in the ribs while one of the cafeteria workers merely dialed 911 and the students merely walked away in silence.
"Scumbag..." Bob growled as he spat a wad of phlegm at the beaten form of the bully as they returned to their classrooms.
XXX
1 week later...
Robinson Family Hospital
Amy sat at Ian's side as he slept, lightly snoring and having a peaceful look on his face as she held his hand in hers. Tears coming down her cheeks, she scooted closer to him, hoping that whatever he was going through wasn't too painful. Dr. Philips was in the room with her, writing down something on a clipboard in silence.
"Ian..." A voice rang through his ears like a siren's call as his eyes fluttered opened. There he saw a thing in the shape of his sister staring down at him, his hand in hers as she silently prayed with tears flowing down from her eyes.
Dazed, Ian turned his intoxicated gaze towards his sister, mumbling incoherently before speaking, "Sister?"
A look of hope came through Amy's face as the doctor began examining him, "Well, he's coherent enough to recognize you, that's a definitely good sign."
"Amy..." Ian mumbled, his head rocking from side to side in a daze, "I saw you, dancing in a field of blood..."
The look of hope vanished as it became one of shock and despair when he spoke, even as the doctor used a flashlight to examine his eyes. The pupils still dilated, and his eyes followed the light when he swayed it back and forth, but for some reason, he still spoke nonsense. Regardless, much to his displeasure, he wouldn't have to worry about it much longer.
"Amy, can you follow me outside?" Dr. Philips asked the girl, who looked at him with a confused expression, looking back to Ian before she acquiesced and left the room with him, leaving Ian alone in the room as he fell back asleep.
Outside the room, Ian's worried family gathered around as Dr. Philips exhaled, adjusting his glasses as he had to be the bearer of bad news for the family, before working up the nerve and explaining the situation, "Sir, ma'am, I'm afraid that Ian's condition is unlike any I've ever seen. His symptoms are both consistent and inconsistent, and even others that don't align with typical conditions. Perhaps the methamphetamine did some nerve damage, but I'm not sure."
"What do you mean, 'you're not sure?!' Didn't you take any brain scans?!" Jane angerly asked but her husband and daughter calmed her down.
"Yes, we took brain scans of him, but the results..." Doctor Philips trailed off before deciding to explain, "All of his synapsis were firing at random. It was like his brain was trying to recall, suppress, receive, and store information all at once. I've never seen anything like it. I had to send the scans to some colleagues of mine."
The family all look at each other in worry, with Frank asking the dreaded question, "What does that mean?"
"It means that Ian's likely going to be taken to a government facility to try and study his brain." The doctor explained, looking regretful of this prospect, "It's out of my hands, the orders came from the government just this morning."
"What do you mean it's from the government?!" Frank yelled incredulously before the sound of an elevator opening caught his and his family's attention as they turned around.
The elevators opened to reveal several armed guards and doctors that quickly exited before they advanced to Ian's room. Leading them was an attractive woman with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail with some bangs hanging from the left side of her forehead, her blue eyes shining out behind her glasses, dressed in a red dress shirt buttoned down to expose part of her chest, a black dress skirt, and red high heels.
The other hospital employees quickly got out of the way before they came to Ian's room.
"Be warned, gentlemen." The woman stopped them before she pointed to the door, "Inside that room is perhaps the most mentally damaged person that had ever lived."
The men nodded before they opened the door and entered to retrieve the boy. Frank then went up to the woman as she turned to him, "What's going on here?"
"Vera Hadley, director of North Cross Research Facility at your service." The woman greeted Frank with a handshake, who was surprised at the next sentence that came out of her mouth, "General Frank Halls, retired. Correct?"
Frank nodded; his face still riddled with confusion before he asked again, "Yeah, that's me. W-what's going on here?"
"Your son has contracted and unknown mental illness." Dr. Hadley explained, "We believe that this may be involved with the explosion of the mine. Because of the possibility, we've been ordered to detain your son for further study."
"WHAT?!" Jane tried to confront the woman, but Amy held her back.
"Ma'am, you can't be serious!" Frank tried to protest but stopped when he saw from the look on Hadley's face that she was always serious. Realizing there was nothing he could do now, Frank sighed and begged, "Just... please promise me that you'll help my son."
Director Hadley sighed as she adjusted her glasses, "I'll do what I can, but your son is a case the likes of which I have never seen before. I promise though that I will do what I can to help him." Whether or not she actually meant the words she said, none of them knew and none of them cared.
Frank held his wife and daughter as they watched the officers wheel Ian away from his room to a van out front, while Hadley walked away with several guards escorting her in case any of the Halls family tried any funny business.
Jane, the weight of what was happening crashing down on her, buried herself in her husband's chest and began crying. Amy followed suit just a few seconds later, hugging both her parents and crying her eyes out. Frank embraced both his wife and his daughter, tears coming from his eyes. Dr. Philips put a hand on Frank's shoulder, a look of sympathy firmly on his face as well as Katherine's as she looked out the window to see the van holding Ian leaving the hospital.
XXX
2 days later...
North Cross Research Facility
In his cell, Ian coughed up as he tried to get comfortable, tossing and turning in the bed, trying to get some sleep.
It's been more than a week since he's had his medication; a narcotic that's meant to balance the hormones in his head. The problem was that it was addictive, and he soon became dependent on it so that he wouldn't have any attacks. But now that he's here, the doses have stopped.
His stay was one of constant interviews, experimental treatments and tests, continuous drugging, and doctors not giving him an ounce of privacy. Other patients were here too, men and women that looked strange and having features that weren't normal. He thinks he asked what they were doing here and maybe the doctor only replied that they were going to be taken care off like him.
The supposed answer seemed hollow when he saw people being dragged away, screaming and begging for their lives in a desperate attempt to escape. Whatever was happening, Ian didn't know.
And quite frankly, he didn't want to know.
It was weird, it was like he was seeing everything through a thick fog, and he couldn't control the words that came out of his mouth. His thoughts were jumbled and muted, thinking things he didn't know before, and knowing things that weren't possible. A feeling like he was out of his own body was constantly present, like he couldn't move or stand right.
The blond woman seemed to be trying to help him return to reality, but it seemed like he just kept falling further and further into the abyss.
A sharp pain in his stomach stopped all his thoughts for the moment.
Ian doesn't feel a sickness yet. But it's in the post, that's for sure. He's in the junkie limbo at the moment. Too ill to sleep. Too tired to stay awake. But the sickness is on its way. Sweat, chills, nausea, pain and craving. Need like nothing else he'd ever known will soon take hold of him. It's on its way.
He doesn't throw up, but it feels like his guts are trying to liquify and force themselves up his throat. Things that aren't there coming into and coming out of the corner of his eyes, voices that were like painted on smiles whispering into his ears, words that never were lining the walls, and some that had no form scratching against his skin.
Ian curled into a fetal position, desperately trying to drown out the sounds and sights around him that were tormenting him. A control that tormented him
Ian found himself in a place that never was, a voice calling out to him from beyond reality.
It all began in the Kingdom of Alagadda. A prosperous place of decadence and exploration, where the autocratic king ruled with absolution. There was no dissent or thoughts of rebellion as the king was simply too mighty, his armies too vast, and his resources too great. Whatever dissidents were silenced and put on display for all the fearful farmers and horrified citizens to see. Even with a mighty kingdom for him to rule, the king was not satisfied, often swirling the cognac in his golden chalice in bored until he thought of a new way to expand his power.
There, the king, either man or more, proposed a game to the Four Gods of Chaos, gambling with the souls of his subjects and his armies. Each a game of their choosing; a game of riddles with the Changer of Ways, a game of war with the Blood God, a game of conjuring with the Plaguefather, and a game of music with the Prince of Pleasure.
On the game of riddles, Tzeentch and the King exchanged their most complex riddles, going back and worth, until the King pulled his greatest riddle of all. "I am change, and yet I am stagnancy. I am life and yet I am death. I am war and yet I am peace. I am perfect and yet I am imperfect. What am I?" And for once, the Changer of Ways was left dumbfounded, trying to think of an answer before giving up. The King's response was "The Universe."
As such, the King won the first game.
On the game of war, Khorne and the King played a game of chess. However, as the game continued, the Blood God grew more and more incensed when the King began beating him, becoming more reckless and predictable to where he loses within a few turns of the King calling check.
As such, the King won the second game.
One the game of conjuring, Nurgle and the King were both given cauldrons to begin mixing their concoctions. When their time for conjuring was finished, the Plaguefather presented his creation, a powerful plague that could strip the flesh off the bones of any living being. With the King however, using his alchemical knowledge, created a contagion that would reduce any creature into mutated monstrosities. Nurgle, impressed by the King's concoction, conceded defeat.
As such, the King won the third game.
On the game of music, Slaanesh merely brought her finest instruments as she played her hymn, hypnotizing the masses around her. The King was moved by her hymn before the Dark Prince listened as the king played his finest song on his harp, akin to Orpheus playing to Hades and Persephone. The Dark Prince was moved to tears at such a beautiful song and conceded defeat.
As such, the King won the final game and the wager.
However, while the King won the wager, a slave revolt took place outside of his castle. The King did not know or cared to know that his oppression caused many to slowly defect from his kingdom, secretly forming an army in which to overthrow the King. When it grew to the size that it could rival the King's armies clashing with his armies and with each sides taking heavy casualties until the revolutionaries overwhelmed the Imperial forces, breaching the castle and converging onto the King.
The kingdom's long suppressed subjects had reached the King's dungeon, where he tried to hide as his guards stood defenseless against the mob. They dragged him, the once King, now deprived of his crown and throne, through the carefully polished marble floor, putting rusted chains around his hands and ankles. The very chains that the King had used to imprison his opponents. They rid him of his long gorgeous robe, using mere rags to cover his now scarred body. The old King murmured, but his mouth was soon slammed shut by the angry crowd.
The riot went on, with exploited farmers and workers and even the once loyal and lawful citizens, rushing into the palace to grab their share of the treasure. The followers and servants of the King were all butchered with knives and swords or even by heavy sticks and stones. Even the jester of the court was not spared. He was caught crying as the people put his head against the beautifully decorated palace wall. His mask lay broken on the ground, and his blood soon stained the royal carpets as the fire grew silently, taking the palace slowly apart.
But the wiser men of the city did not join this parade of madness. Unlike the uneducated crowd, they knew very well what the things in the King's dungeon meant. Not just corruption and indulgence of pleasure, but something darker, whispers and prayers to things that should not be remembered. The tomes and symbols reminded them too much of the ancient gods of down in the abyss, the dark red liquid in the silver cup unsettlingly resembled blood. A lion, which was once the King's pet, now reduced to mere skeleton, had carvings on it that they wish they could unsee. And they knew that the soldiers fell before the angry people not because their weapons were not sharp or their armors were poorly-made, but because their bodies so weak, that they weren't even able to put up a fight. The soldiers were hardly the young men in good health they were when they were recruited, as they appeared lost and confused with a broken soul, as if something had sucked their life dry over the years. So they fled, scholars grabbing their scrolls, painters taking their paintings and tools, leaving this cursed city without looking back.
The cheering in the city however, did not cease. The people celebrated their victory, throwing filthy things towards the King, picking up stones to break his fragile bones once more. Even the smallest children had come up and kicked the old man, leaving him crawling in the mud. They hardly understood what this all meant, but they too laughed with the crowd. The crows gathered on the branches nearby, and they made noises harsh and shrill, as if mocking the men below.
Tortured people had taken their revenge, but even those who had been the King's accomplice had joined their rank. The criminals who had murdered tens of people stood alongside those who were too afraid to even speak ill of the court, and they all cheered and cheered. The thieves walked proudly in broad daylight, for on this one day, the only thief was the King, who stole the Kingdom from its people, and everything else done was to serve justice. Innocents had died and the ones with blood on their hands were praised heroes, but the crowd did not care. They were vultures, feasting upon the dead body of a giant, who had been weak and sinful, now a lair for things so much more filthy than he was.
And the climax of the feast came when the King was taken through the long streets and out to a small hill where an old tree stood. They were going to use the gallows to hang him, but someone suggested that the King did not deserve a formal execution, but should die nameless and forgotten. So they took him here, a deserted place where the tree happened to be big and tall enough for him to be hanged. The King, who had crawled on his broken knees all the way there, hardly resembled a king anymore. Covered in dirt and rags, he was more along the lines of beggars than anything of royalty. But even as people spat at him and cursed him, nobody dared to look at him in the eyes. Even with his jaw broken, he murmured unholy words that no one wished to hear. So the crowd shouted and yelled as loud as they could, trying to hide the unsettling feeling stirring their hearts and minds.
The execution was done easily and swiftly, as it merely took a long rope around the King's neck with its end tied to a large tree branch. The King was hanged, heavy chains still on his body, for the people felt unsafe to take them off. He had struggled like every hanged man in human history, but the words slipped through his lips were unlike anything others had spoken. He did not ask for forgiveness, nor did he curse his rebellious subjects for he knew they had already been cursed.
Desperate to survive the onslaught and torture of the revolutionaries, the King yelled out as his breathing was restricted by the noose, calling in the favor that the Gods owed him, laughing madly with the dying thoughts of the madman ringing out through the Warp. By the time of the noose wrapping around his breath, he had been silenced, but his cry had been heard by the Gods and respected the wager.
Each of the Gods pulled an aspect out of themselves and implanted them in the King's corpse. Each aspect was one that represented the King's mad desire. From Tzeentch, came the Madness of Knowledge. From Nurgle, came the Madness of Fear and Death. From Khorne, came the Madness of Rage. From Slaanesh, came the Madness of Decadence.
Each aspect wove into each other, forming into the essence of a new God that fed on the madness of all living things. It formed and feasted on insanity and madness, spreading through the dirt of Alagadda and coiling into the works of the world.
There was no longer cheering, as everyone tried to get out of the place as soon as they could. Nobody wanted to look at the Hanged King for a second more, as his eyes, now lifeless and wide, still seemed to be staring at them. The courage they built up when taking the palace was gone, the pride and the triumph they felt now reduced to void and fear. The King was hanged, but it was as if his laughter was still echoing on this small hill.
They never intended to bury him as they eventually did, for they wanted him to be exposed in the wild for crows to come and maggots to grow, and his body to decay, so that the King would die humiliated. The crows did come, circling around him but never landed. They just laughed and laughed with their ugly voices as if mocking the crowd once more. And the lifeless look of the King was so resentful and disgusting that everyone wanted to cover this foul creature with earth, as if mere soil would help them escape from his hateful gaze. They did not make him a tomb, however, and they buried the King only shallowly as nobody was willing to stay long to dig a hole deep enough. Then the crowd left. They went back to the city, and indulged themselves in their newly gained treasure, trying to forget what they had witnessed.
On the first day, nothing had really happened, except that a homeless man reported that he had heard strange noises coming from the hill, where the King was hanged and buried. He also said that crows had gathered, their eyes fixed on the King's grave, as if waiting for something to happen. But this was dismissed as a madman's words.
On the second day, however, many residents of the city found themselves badly ill. They coughed, bled, and trembled lying on the floor as if they were bound by heavy, rusted chains. The river that flowed across the city had turned red and smelled of human blood. Those who enjoyed their new power and wealth found themselves helpless after merely one day, clutching at the gold they took from the palace and died beside it.
On the third day, those who were still alive were able to move again. But they stood up only to put a knife against their throats or to scream while ripping their faces off. Their blood streamed out of their houses, staining the river with red even more. All animals had fled the city, except for the crows, which were now almost everywhere. They stood watching silently as the city spiraled down into madness. At the same time, the soil on top of the King's burial rustled. The crows laughed with their harsh tone as the Hanged King climbed out of his grave, with chains around his hands and ankles and the rope around his neck.
He was hanged as a king of men, but he came out of that place something else. His body lifeless, but he was not dead as he refused to walk that path and used souls he had and didn't have to make the bargain. The chains hit the ground, clashing against each other as the Hanged King made his way back to the city. The very city now flooded with blood and watched by dark crows, where people kept screaming until they could scream no more.
He moved past the streets where he was dragged along just a few days back, stepping on the blood of his former subjects. He walked slowly towards the ruins of the once magnificent palace he had built all those years ago. The treasures had been taken, and all that was left were dead bodies and broken weapons. The King moved past a broken mask, which was once worn by his favorite jester, but he paid no attention. He walked towards the dungeon where a throne covered by sharp, rusted spikes was placed. The ones who had taken the palace thought it was meant for torturing and did not bother to move it. The King, leaving a blood trail behind, stepped upon to the throne, and placed his body through the cold metal spikes.
As the spikes went through his dead body, the King trembled. He would have screamed, if the rope had not rendered him breathless, for the pain was in the soul rather than his body. He was there to suffer forever, but it had been done and it was then his one and only rightful throne. For a moment there, there was silence, but then the ruins of the palace began to shake, and the city started to tremble. The flames rose once more, but more of a phantom of the past, and the blood in the river started to boil. The skeleton of the lion stood up, and roared.
The King's dungeon, where the throne was placed, the center of all these, now became a hole, a hole that warped the whole kingdom inside. It turned everything inside out, making them twisted and inhuman. The space bent, time disoriented, and the city was in another place not quite there, but still where they all were. The whole city was transformed and remade. The crows had taken off and they circled the city, searching for those who were not yet dead, pecking them with their beaks until they bled out in horrifying forms.
The Hanged King, who was now seated in the court of his new city, built upon the ruins of the old one, shall sit there forever and ever. The dead jester came up, once again wore his broken mask, and offered the King a silver cup filled with blood.
He spoke words not quite his in an alien tone: "With this, our blood, it is the Hanged King's."
The King took the cup, but his hand was broken and pierced by the sharp blades of the throne. The scarred hand trembled hard, and it was too weak to hold it. The cup then fell on the floor and the blood spilled on his new court.
But with his new might, the King willed the blood to flow back into the silver cup, raising it to his hand and drank with cracked and blackened lips, flowing past rotted needle-like teeth. However, his hand lost its grip and the cup fell again, now having only drunken half of the blood before it fell from his trembling hand. The half was more than enough.
The crows, who had been watching, laughed again with their harsh voices and left. They left the city as the dead stood up again, bending their broken body to resemble human form. They walked the new twisted streets, putting on masks to cover their bloodied faces, and started to cheer as they did when they were alive on the day they took the palace. They paraded in the new city and started a carnival, as if the tragedy was a grand masquerade all along. They laughed and laughed until the King started to cry and scream, but his throat could not make a single sound, so he merely wept in silence.
The essence of madness and insanity flowed through the city, twisting the architecture into a geological nightmare and sending it screaming into the Warp where it became the dominion of the Hanged King.
So, the city was ruled forever by the Hanged King, with the masked dead celebrating and parading until they too rot. But as the realm of the Hanged King grew, so did those that fell to his horrid madness.
Clan Malkavian, blessed with beastly visions and with the power of Dementation, were the first to fall to the Hanged King, becoming dancers, oracles, fortunetellers, and courtesans in the case of females. Their maddened ramblings and antics befitting the Hanged King's court.
Then came the Masked Lords of Alagadda; The Black Lord, Wearer of the Anguished Mask. The White Lord, Wearer of the Diligent Mask. The Yellow Lord, Wearer of the Odious Mask. The Red Lord, Wearer of the Mirthful Mask.
And then the Ambassador of Alagadda; a being that was narcissistic to the point of utter delusion. Resembling an effeminate humanoid of immense height composed of flesh that resembled a black latex body suit, feet that resembled stilettos, and gold flame-like markings, and no face.
Millions of people, creatures, and factions ruled by madness came to his folds as the King sat eternally on his spiked through in torment.
The information buzzed and pulsed in his brain, not telling if it was a vision or real life.
Ian then found himself in a palace of old European design, finding himself in exquisite aristocratic clothing with what felt like a spiked iron crown. It was then that he immediately noticed that everything around him was black, white, and various shades of grey, with some splashes of red. Arc shapes supported the ceiling with the carvings of swirling vines, the walls crawled with horrid smoke that took disquieting shapes of stultifying hideousness, and the floor a chessboard of black and light grey.
The man looked at himself in confusion before he heard a sound outside the palace, turning to see the gibbous moon in the starless sky. Its light akin to the hypnotic sound of a siren's call, while echoing shapes slithered in and out of the corners of his eyes and whispers echoing loudly in his mind. The smell of blood soon whiffed up to his nose, causing him to recoil and put a hand to his mouth and nose as he looked around.
Red smoke emitted from somewhere in the palace, causing the inquisitive and curious Ian to follow the trail towards its origins. Some moment in time seemed to stretch forever as he felt matter and space bend to impossible forms, rivers of blood spilling from impossibly vast oceans of corpses and iron water, and guards composed off obsidian and smoke with faces hidden in anguished, diligent, odious, or mirthful masks and holding halberds of cold iron and silver. Black things swimming in oblivion were only felt not seen, anguished screams of the undead dancers, and the smell of wine and sex suffated the air to his disgust.
Entering through an arched entranced decorated with spikes and swirling vines, Ian entered the Throneroom. It seemed to stretch into a massive court of decadence that was empty and only occupied by echoes, the massive circular ceiling covered in impossible symbols that flowed liquescently, tinkling cups filled with wine sitting on iron tables, and the sounds of dragging chains faintly being heard. In the center was an iron throne covered in spikes, tarnishing and bleeding before seeing who sat in its seat.
Sitting on the spiked throne was a corpse bound in iron chains and leather tethers, clad in grey tattered robes of varying shades that didn't hide its corpse-like hands covered in bandages with blackened fingertips and claw-like fingernails that beheld dozens of silver rings and accursed and eye-like markings that swam across the bandages. Its head was concealed by a black veil or hood under an iron crown with spikes and rubies, its upper half covered by a light grey shawl, pale tendrils slithering in and out at random, while grey impish creatures crawled around and across the body, sometime caressing parts to comfort the King while others pulled the tethers harder.
Ian blinked at the King before something appeared.
It was a Jester, who's costume colored black and white with a clover on the right breast, a heart on the left breast, a diamond on the right side of the torso, and an ace of spades on the left side of the torso. The face was covered by a mask with marking that resembled a face that smiled mischievously, the rest of his head hidden by a jester's hat. In the black clawed gloved hands of the Jester was a silver chalice decorated with rubies and markings of swirling vines, filled with a red fluid that seemed neither like blood nor wine but smelled like both.
Moving like something that seemed like it was wearing the form of the Jester, it offered the chalice to a confused Ian before speaking in words from nothing possibly human, "With this, the tribute, in full it is paid. With this, our blood, it is the Hanged King's."
A compulsion overtook him, feeling like it was his own yet like a dagger was pointed to his throat, taking the chalice into his hands and drinking deeply from it. The liquid burned down his throat before it boiled in his stomach.
Ian suddenly found himself sitting on a silver throne, wrapped tightly in bandages under grey tattered robes, bound in chains and tethers. Suddenly, an androgenous creature that looked as if it was clad in a black bodysuit, no face, golden markings around its body, and high heels for feet knelt down and with a jagged spiked crown in its hands.
"With this, our lord, his reign it is made. With this, the crown and our blood, it is the Hanged King's." The Ambassador of Alagadda spoke in an alien voice, each word dripping with narcissistic venom as he gently placed the crown on Ian's bowed head. Ian then raised his head, somehow seeing that he now appeared of a bound body dressed as a king on a throne of spikes.
He then saw that millions of masked men and women were standing before him, dressed in masquerade ball attire, all holding silver cups filled with wine raised in a toast. The Ambassador raising his own with a golden cup decorated with rubies and filled with the same wine, raising it into the air.
"With this, our blood, it is the Hanged King's."
Their silver cup ticked together before the taste of wine filled his mouth. But this was no ordinary wine, it tasted of all his favorite foods and drinks mixed together into a taste that was laciferous and maddening like tasting the blood of Gods!
Suddenly, a pain came. Not in the flesh but in the soul, lighting his soul ablaze as he tried to flail on the throne.
It pierces his skin.
The brand is searing.
A noose tightens around his neck.
Chains weigh down on his joints.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.
IT HURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTS...
.
.
.
.
What does it feel like when someone is losing their mind?
XXX
12 days later...
Director Hadley and one of the doctors walked down the hallway, the latter having a dejected expression as they approached Ian's cell.
"He's only gotten worse, ma'am." The doctor replied to the Director as they showed her their patient, "He barely eats, he rarely talks, and he mostly spends his time either wandering around his cell in a daze or drawing on the papers we give him. Take a look." He motioned to the porthole through the window in the door to Ian's cell, that the Director peered into.
Ian had become unnaturally thin to where his bones were visible, his hair was cut short and was now white as snow, his eyes dull and barely having a spark of life, his face an expressionless daze and slackened. His body covered by a white long sleeve shirt and white cloth pants under a white open bathrobe and white slippers. He was currently sitting at the desk provided to him, drawing on several pieces of paper with a pencil.
The Director frowned but said nothing, hating the fact that there was little she could do.
"If you think that's bad, look at all the things he's been drawing." The doctor showed the Director three of them, who had a shocked expression when her eyes laid on the drawings.
One showed what could only be described as a twisted version of Carnival, showing various men and women with Masquerade masks and aristocratic attire. The city however was the most bizarre thing she ever saw, something that resembled a painting if made by Edger Alan Poe. Stairways that were upside down, architecture that didn't make sense structurally, and what seemed to be waterfalls of either blood or wine judging by the red coloring.
Another really caused her to blink in surprise; this one showed a corpse on a spiked throne with hallowed bonds on the hands and neck, a veil covering the face, a spiked crown, chains and tethers wrapped around the torso like a straitjacket with the throne's spikes impaled through the chest, arms, and shoulders. Around the corpse were impish creatures that were either caressing the body or pulling the tethers tighter.
The final one made her blood go cold; it was a figure, resembling a black humanoid with no facial features and high heel-like feet, having a clawed hand covering where a mouth would have been, seemingly in a chuckle like a nobleman. Even from the still drawing, the thing stood so damn proud, having a feeling that whatever language it could produce would be dripping with narcissistic venom. It was standing in a bizarre throne room that was both upside-down and right-side up at the same time, with half a body covered in bandages with eyes peeking through them, being chained to the floor by the neck with a crown on its head.
"Jesus," Director Hadley murmured before she turned her gaze to the dazed man in his cell, "What the hell is going on in your head, kid?"
The doctor only gave a somber nod, "We're gonna try some experimental treatments but I'm concerned that they might cause him to regress even more. The inconsistences in his synapses are becoming more and more random with each day.
The Director chewed on the eraser of her pencil, not knowing what to do. Each day, he seemed to retreat further into his own world, only eating because they spoon-fed him. He still got plenty of sleep though, but all he ever does other than that is just drawing and the only times he ever speaks was to ask for more paper to draw with.
An idea then popped into her head.
"Can you open the door?" Director Hadley asked the doctor, who did a double take.
"Excuse me, but why, Director?"
"I believe I can provoke a response from him." She replied, watching as the doctor nodded and slowly swiped his card on the reader. The door opened, letting her inside but Ian was unmoved from his work.
Director Hadley believed that maybe if she can get to know what it is that he's been occupied with, maybe she could get him to open up and then maybe she would slowly begin to understand and help him.
"Ian?" Hadley gently asked as she approached him, aware that the door closed behind her.
"Director." Came Ian's robotic reply, not looking at her as he continued drawing.
The Director then knelt down next to Ian and looked over his drawings, the one he was working on was one with that same black humanoid. She then turned to her patient and asked the poor boy while running a hand through his short white hair, "Ian, tell me about the King."
Working as she hoped, Ian paused his current work and looked at her before he sifted through his drawings. After a few moments, before he found one and gave it to her, "When the King ruled Alagadda, he bargained with the souls of his subjects in four great games with the four Gods of Chaos. The first, he once with wisdom. The second, he won with patience. The third, he won with creativity. The fourth, he won with heart and passion. With his victory, came the greatest gift from the Gods: a favor."
"A favor?" Hadley raised an eyebrow in questioning, wondering what the favor could procure.
"A favor that the Gods would grant him anything. Anything at all." Ian explained as he then showed a drawing of what appeared to be a man being hung on a tree with several people surrounding it, "The favor was used when the King's subjects rebelled and hung him from a tree. He cried out to them from their kingdoms in unreality to save him from death and to give him the power to destroy those that wronged him."
He then gave her another drawing to her, which depicted a rather odd sight. It showed four arms extended from offscreen, all different and spilling... something from cups onto a tree where a figure with a crown was hanged. The first looked like the arm of a beast, covered in fur and spikes, a clawed hand that held a tankard that had horns and skulls hanging from it. The second looked like a skeleton's arm with flaps of flesh hanging on the bones, flies and maggots crawling on the fingers, a skeletal hand holding a rusted looking cup with moss covering it.
The third seemed like it couldn't decide what it was, with it resembling a bird's talon, octopoid tentacles, lizard's claw, and a webbed hand, having numerous eyes and mouths covering the surface, the strangle hand holding a goblet covered in several strange symbols. The fourth was lithe and feminine, flawless skin with horns on the elbow, covered in a skintight armlet seemingly made of leather that had several needle-like spikes that ended at the wrist, a hand with blackened clawed nails holding a chalice with several precious jewels and minerals.
"For three days, the rebels found themselves plagued by disease and madness, while the artists all fled Alagadda before the King was hung. When the third day ended, the crows pecked and tore the bodies of the citizens with their peaks until they bleed to death. Then, the King rose from his grave, the noose still around his neck and the chains around his wrists and ankles."
He then showed her a minimalist similar drawing; standing in a room wreathed in flames was a humanoid wrapped in bandages with eyes peeking through, chains wrapped around the neck, wrists, and elbows, spikes driven into and sticking out of its back, and a crown-like halo floating above its head. Standing before it was a jester that had a silver chalice in its hands.
"As he entered the throne room, the King sat on a spiked throne, several piercing his body, but the pain was not in the flesh but in the soul." Ian continued, "As he silently screamed, the city warped and the crows circled the dead, the blood river boiled, and the dead rose. The slain Jester rose and offered a chalice of blood, speaking in words that never were, 'With this, our blood, it is the Hanged King's.' The hand of the King, weak and shaking, dropped the cup and spilled its unholy essence."
The Director was listening with rapt attention and wide eyes as Ian sifted through his drawings and continued to speak, "And so the crows laughed, the dead rose and bent their broken bodies to resemble the things they once were, donning masks to hide their bloodied faces, and began to cheer like they did during the revolution, parading through the streets like the tragedy was merely a grand masquerade."
A particular paper was enclosed by the tips of his finger and thumb, pulling it out of the stack.
"And thus was born..."
He slammed it on his desk, revealing the drawing to the Director. It minimalistically depicted a humanoid standing in a field of flames, wreathed in bandages with eyes poking out at random points, a crow standing in his raised right hand, wrapped in cloth held in place by a ring and root-like tendrils, bat-like wings sticking from the lower right and upper left, swords piercing the left side, chains around the wrists, elbow, and finally neck, with a crown sitting atop their head.
"The Hanged King."
Director Hadley felt enraptured by the story of the Hanged King, holding the drawing up in interest, "Thank you, Ian. I'd like to hear more later."
"Thank you." Ian's only reply came before he took another empty piece of paper from the stack and started another drawing.
She walked out of Ian's cell as the door closed behind her, looking at the drawing with a perplexed expression. It depicted a person standing before a jester in a verdant field with masked people dancing around them like a ball. The person resembled a man in a mental patient's outfit with a bathrobe covering its upper half and the lower half to the knees, having shaggy long hair that reached their collarbone and bags under their eyes.
The most alarming part was that it showed a disembodied hand floating above with thin tendrils exuding from the fingertips and connecting to the person's arms, legs and head, almost like they were a puppet pulled on eldritch strings. The jester had a cup in their hand and was extending it out to the person, who stood still and stoic as if in thought of the Jester's offer.
Hadley merely stared at the picture with a perplexed expression on her face before looking back in his cell, wondering what the hell could be going on Ian's head.
Little did she know, the seeds of corruption had already been planted.
XXX
2 weeks later...
In the facility's meeting room, the Director sat down and gathered her papers as the generals entered the meeting room and the doctors greeted them. The first was General Esner, a four-star general who served in Vietnam, his feature old and having shaved grey hair. General Makenzie, a four-star general that served in Iraq, having black hair and was rather young for a general. General Benleigh, an older general who served in WW2 as a private and slowly became general over the course of his career, having voluntarily been taken out of retirement. The last was General Halls, who served in the Iraq War, who had voluntarily been taken out of retirement to serve in face of this crisis.
The generals sat down at the table, looking stoic and stern as the doctors but they began their discussion for today's meeting.
"Director Hadley," General Makenzie began the meeting, resting his head on his folded hands, "Good to see you again."
"Good to see you again too, General Makenzie." The director replied stoically, "Shall we skip the pleasantries?"
"We shall." General Beleigh interrupted, "The government has yet to see the results of your experiments. Almost 2 million dollars being funneled to this facility each month and we haven't seen anything from your research, Director Hadley."
"We have made significant progress in our research into ethereal radiation and its effects on the human body." Hadley began her report to the generals, "Blood samples taken from people exposed to the radiation yielded rather..." She trailed off and then continued with a wince, "surprising results for lack of a better term."
Some of the generals raised an eyebrow at that, "What do you mean by 'surprising?'"
"Exposure to ethereal radiation causes extreme mutation in organic and inorganic material." Hadley explained to the best of her ability, "One subject possessed an acidic substance in place of blood that somehow managed to carry oxygen to the brain and heart. We found this out after we attempted to take a blood sample and it melted the syringe."
Surprise came over the face, before the director continued, "And that's one of the milder mutations created from ethereal radiation exposure. More aggressive mutations had to be immediately euthanized. Some easier than others. No, the casualty reports were not exaggerations." She finished preemptively before continuing, "Several people exposed to the radiation that were transferred displayed acute abilities that would not be out of place to call superpowers, and radiation tests determined that they all based on the ethereal energy."
Before she could continue, General Halls cut in then, "What about my son Ian?"
Silence than took over the room as all heads turned to the director.
"Sir," Director Hadley could only look down in shame, "I'm sorry, but... your son's not getting better. If anything, his delusions are only getting worse. He barely eats, he can barely speak coherently, and he mostly just spends every day either sleeping or drawing things. The only time he at all speaks coherently is when he is asked about that story."
"For those that do not know, General Halls' son, Ian, was discovered to have been driven insane after the explosion." One of the doctors explained to the generals, "A constant example of his madness is a figure that he had developed an obsession with. He has also provided illustrations of this figure." The doctor pulled out many of Ian's drawings from a folder and set them on the table for the men and women at the meeting to see.
"Jesus," One of the generals said as they looked over Ian's drawings, most having disturbed or befuddled reactions to the illustrations.
"He calls the figure, 'the Hanged King' and he's been rambling about this King nonstop." The Director explained to the men and women in the room, "Obviously, his obsession with the King has been translating into his drawings.
"What has Ian said about the King?" General Halls asked, his eyes still affixed to his son's disturbing drawings.
"The only time Ian has ever talked was about the King." Director Hadley explained to the people, "Apparently, from what I originally assumed, the King is a tulpa he's created in order to cope with his instability. However, brain scans revealed the same ethereal radiation from the mines."
General Halls had a slackened expression, "My son was exposed to ethereal radiation?"
"Large amounts of it, General Hall." Director Hadley informed him grimly, "From what we have seen, the progression is going to be painful. We have a few theories, all grim but from probable research; our first theory is that he'll start to lose the ability to recall memories, and then he'll require a feeding tube because he can't response to the body's needs, and finally there'll be no neural activity and he'll be a vegetable."
"Our second theory isn't much better; the radiation may continue to scramble his neurons and neuro-chemistry, causing an extremely advanced Eigenmann-Veitor schizophrenia complex and other such extreme mental disorders. Such progression may result us needing to drug him constantly in order for him to stay lucid."
"Our third theory is honestly the worse; the radiation may cause him to develop abilities like the other psychics in our custody. If such ability manifests, his unstable mental state will cause that ability to react in all sorts of violent or random ways. So far, that hasn't happened, but the possibility can't be ignored."
The other generals turned to each other, some looking worried and exasperated at the prospect of insane psychics on the loose.
"Did anything useful at least come from your experiments?" General Esner asked, hoping that with all the money they had diverted to the facility was worth something after all.
"Yes, actually." Director Hadley replied, "Despite the... setbacks," she tried to suppress a wince at the experiments, "We've proven that the radiation is able to be manipulated by thought processes, this includes mutations. Psychic powers induced by the radiation can also influence the mutations. As such, we believe that through this, a cure can be synthesized... albeit with more time. A week or two tops."
The generals seemed pleased at this development, especially General Halls, who believes that it will eventually be able to cure his son.
"But what has been worrying us is the steady increase in mutations that we have discovered." Director Hadley added, adjusting her glasses as she did so, "Several tests revealed that the mutations are in a state of progression. One appears, then another, and another, continuing until the body no longer resembles a human. It's those kinds of mutations that we have been trying to immediately euthanize."
The generals looked at each other in concern, before Halls asked her, "My son hasn't shown any signs of this, right?"
"None so far, General Halls." Director Hadley replied, much to Frank's relief, "But I wouldn't hold out hope. Now, onto the next topic..." Halls almost tuned out the rest of the meeting, before Hadley gave him an envelope. She said it was from Ian, but he insisted that he only open it when he got home.
XXX
3 hours later...
Halls' House
Frank exited his car, still in his general's uniform as he was not in the mood to change out of it just yet, walking up through the driveway. The general then arrived back at the front door of his house, taking off his cap and putting it over his chest as he knocks on the door. A moment later, his daughter opened the door, revealing that Jane's brothers and sister came over, likely when she told them about Ian.
Jane's two brothers were Eugene and Drake: About a head or two taller than their sister, with the former had black short hair, steel blue eyes, a normal-ish face, wearing a Kashmere vest over a baby blue dress shirt, brown dress pants, and black tennis shoes. The latter had blond hair like his sister's, brown eyes, a handsome face, wearing a dress shirt with a tie, black dress pants and black polished shoes. Eugene was an accountant and Drake was a businessman.
Jane's sister was Mary: a woman that was around the height of her sister, having short blond hair, blue eyes, and was very beautiful. She was wearing a white sweater, black pants, and black shoes.
Amy hugged her father, catching the attention of Jane and her siblings. When Jane saw Frank, there were equal parts hope and fear on her face, both raging inside her like a tempest.
"Frank..." Eugene awkwardly said as he shook his brother in law's hand, as did Drake and Mary. Frank gave a sad nod as he shook their hands, looking like he had come back from a very bad day at the office.
"Frank, please tell me that Ian's alright." Jane's eyes were filled with desperation and hope, hope that shined so bright that he had to metaphorically look away.
Frowning more, Frank merely shook his head, forcing himself to tell the truth, "No, Ian's only getting worse. He barely eats, he doesn't know what's real, he's jittery and incoherent, and the only time he ever talks is due to an imaginary friend he created that he calls the Hanged King. That last part is what is theorized as being a manifestation of feelings of suicide."
His wife's despair seemed to reach new heights as did his daughter and his In-Laws, with the former asking in a desperate voice, "Frank, what is going on with him?
"That's the thing." Frank decided now more than ever was the time to drop the bombshell, "Brain and radiation scans revealed that Ian was exposed to the radiation of the mine explosion."
"Ethereal radiation?" Amy put her hands to her mouth in horror. She heard the radiation from the news, the sight of the victims of its effects causing her to retch. If Ian was exposed to that stuff, who knows what would happen to him!
"Small amounts of it but exposed to it nonetheless." Her father replied in sorrow, "The doctors have a few theories, none of them good. The first is that he'll slowly lose more and more of his mental faculties until he'll be reduced to a vegetable. The second is that he'll become so unstable that he'll need constant medication to stay lucid. The third is honestly the worst. Remember those psychic attacks? Well, they think that exposure to the radiation could give him those same abilities, but considering the state he's in, they'd be violent and lash out. Thankfully, none of these have happened yet, but we're not holding out hope."
Ian's family and relatives seemed grief-stricken at this, his mother and sister looking like they were gonna collapse into tears while his aunt and uncles looked horrified and saddened as well. Eugene growled out, "What about the bastard that caused him to be hospitalized? What about him?"
Frank at least had the answer to that, "Derek was arrested for attempted murder, after the students beat eight kinds of shit out of him and before the teachers called an ambulance to treat him. He's been sentenced to ten years in prison for attempted murder and another 5 years for possession. Turns out they found a bunch of narcotics in his house."
The family seemed relieved at this, but Frank wasn't that happy. While his son got justice, it wouldn't get him back to normal.
Suddenly, he remembered the envelope that Hadley gave him. "Oh, I-I forgot!" He mumbled as he pulled out the envelope, showing it to his family, "The doctors gave me this. They said it was from Ian."
However, what was written on that letter was nothing like they would expect.
There comes the King and his crowd,
His subjects turned against him, taking his crown.
The cheering comes with flames of hate,
Burning and raging, bring the palace down.
乌声了却
黑星灿然
所谓缢王
凄凄艾艾
Gold and diamonds scatter on the ground,
Bodies of the royal lie around.
A mask from masquerade stained and broken,
As is his ruling falling apart.
座有荆棘
冠如锁链
异鬼幽冥
环伺其间
Rags on his body chains all around,
The King old and weak, losing his power.
A crow laughs and the jester cries,
The skeleton of a lion roars but halts.
舞宴盛然
裙裾招展
若是假面
笑乎悲哉
Upon the old tree the King was hanged,
His former subjects silently watch.
The chains are rusted and the rope is long,
Strangles and tightens squeezing the breath out.
高低楼阁
若虚若幻
迷墙回环
去不复返
The King mumbles and whispers as he lingers,
Praying to the dark gods we know not about.
Life slips from his body but deaths comes not,
His eyes cold and empty, his voice speaks of dark.
群氓列王
惊其辉煌
诸魔众神
怖其伟岸
Half-alive when he is buried,
Half-dead when he escapes.
Coming back to reclaim his kingdom,
With blood and rage and horrors from beyond.
庶民之血
缢王享之
愚者之血
尽献堂前
But a dead King rules not the living,
Until the living too find their tombs.
So the old kingdom is destroyed once more,
Only to build a new one for no mortal soul.
乌声纷然
黑星黯淡
所谓缢王
呜呼哀哉
And thus the Hanged King sits in his palace,
His lords serve him with broken masks.
But the chains bind him with pain and torment,
And the crows of death shall forever watch.
如是群鸦讪笑不止
Frank stared at the letter along with Amy before the latter turned to the former, "Since when did Ian know how to write Kanji?"
All Frank could do was open and close his mouth in utter bewilderment, the same question going through his head as did his wife's and in law's:
"What the hell is going on in Ian's head?"
XXX
2 weeks later...
Vera Hadley's House
Director Hadley finished the mixture, twirling it in the lavastone bowl that it was in. It was an emerald mixture that glowed pale and balefully, vaguely hearing whispers of something scratching at the back of her head.
Day in and day out, certain set of sights of a decadent city kept appearing in her dreams along with something else; a gateway that allows one to enter the City of Alagadda like what Ian had constantly told her about. Despite her fear at the prospect of entering the nightmare city that Ian kept describing in vivid detail, something kept egging her to do it.
This desire grew when Ian told her a story of another world and another time.
After the First Emperor had founded the Empire of Arcadia, he knew there was a chance that it could fall or be overthrown. So, he called upon his best alchemists, sorcerers, engineers, craftsmen, and scientists to assemble the ultimate army. One that would not know the faults of hunger, remorse, guilt, or hesitation. One that would be loyal to the Empire and only the Empire, one that would defend it for the rest of their existences.
However, instead of creating just one army, he created three: one of gold, one of stone, and one of iron.
The engineers and sorcerers created the Golden Army from a gold Orichalcum alloy, animating them via magic and capable of moving due to their clockwork components. They were described as being 7 feet in height, sleekly designed, having a golden-orange glow from their clockwork reactors, armed with several weapons and armaments, can self-repair even from the most horrid damage.
The alchemists created the Stone Army from an indestructible ore from a country known by Wakoku, animating them via alchemy. They were more heavy and slow than the Golden Army, but they are completely indestructible, armed with twin gigantic simitars that could cleave several people into pulp with but a single swing, combined with their limitless durability and endurance, made them nearly invincible.
The craftsmen and the scientists created the Iron Army from a special metal with the same properties as flesh; capable of flowing and sealing up at each damage, animating them via a combination of magic and alchemy. They can be damaged but can self-repair easily, armed with a wide variety of weapons and armaments that no one could ever dream off.
They all created a special pendant that would bind them to the wearer, but to ensure that it wouldn't fall into enemy hands, it could only be wielded by the royal bloodline. During this time, the pendant was passed down from generation to generation, who never had to use them for they lived in peaceful and prosperous times that many hoped would never end.
400 years ago, however, Emperor Helghast, seeing the potential of the Imperial Guardians, used the three armies to expand the Empire's territory that resulted in the deaths of millions before he died of a heart attack. His sister, Empress Hella, feeling guilt for her brother's actions, believed that no one should wield such power and tried to destroy the pendant, but found that it was indestructible.
To keep it from anyone else, she hid it in the deepest confines of the Imperial Palace.
However, during a great rebellion against the now corrupt Empire, the current Emperor, Emperor Makoto succumbed to the Hanged King's influence, who in turn showed him to the pendant to control the three armies. Upon crushing the rebellion with his three inorganic armies, Makoto, the rebels, and the Empire was absorbed into Alagadda.
Makoto is now one of the many advisors and members of the Hanged King's Court.
This was yet another one of Ian's stories on the Hanged King and his conquests, each one constantly making her more and more curious of the King and the city he is inhabiting. Perhaps it was her inner thoughts that were driving her to do this were the same ones she had when she was younger. When she was a little girl, she always wanted to know more, even at the cost of others.
That urge to learn made her pursue her interest to the nth degree is what got her valedictorian when she graduated both from highschool and from Harvard University all those years ago, and especially when she got her doctorate. But that same curiosity and drive for knowledge that gave her success was overtaking her again as Ian regaled tales of the Hanged King.
And that scared her. What if the stories that Ian had been telling her the entire time he'd been in the facility weren't just stories? What if they actually led her to a city of insanity that if she did this ritual. What if she actually fell to an endless state of madness in a decadent court, eternally dancing, fornicating, and drinking? What if Ian had truly come in contact with this 'Hanged King' and began venerating it like it was his new god? What if... What if she was being roped into the arms of the Hanged King like Ian?
Vera shook her head. She'd come too far to stop. And see remembered when she passed the point of no return.
Eventually, the urge and her curiosity were too much and caused her to cave in, going inside Ian's cell and asking him how to enter Alagadda. Ian cheerfully described a ritual on how to create a gateway to the city; she must collect certain ingredients and mix them into a special liquid, before lighting some candles and saying a specific incantation, writing in all down in exquisite detail for her. When she asked him why he didn't enter Alagadda if he knew how to enter it, his reply was one that chilled her to her bones; "The King decreed that I be his oracle, his eyes through the boundaries of this universe. My time at his side is not now."
However, before she left his cell, Hadley found two sheets that didn't have drawings but passages as if taken from a holy manuscript or a storybook.
One read: For three days the King was hanged. His blood streamed down from the high palace, and seeped into every inch of the city. For three days he struggled and twitched and refused to go out, yet all the sounds he made was drowned out by the laughter of the Ambassador and the applause of his own people. For three days his body grew colder and colder, until it was as dead as the queen deep beneath the castle; until he was but an empty husk, a hole of his previous self.
And the other read: He was standing there as the King shrieked and shrieked, as the King crawled back to his throne with maggots and decaying flesh, as the King was offered their blood by the jester, and as the King dropped the cup. The jester was laughing, the Court was laughing, the crowds were laughing, the crows were laughing, and he was laughing with them. The Black Dragon was laughing in his brass forge, and he witnessed his mark.
That was the drop that broke the dame, causing her to cast off any restraints and indulge her curiosity on Alagadda.
Shaking herself out of that memory, Vera sat down with her legs crossed in a circle made of lit candles in front of the wall in her office, holding the liquid filled bowl in her hands. With a deep breath, her eyes closed, and in a meditative position, Hadley began reciting the incantation.
It was unlike any language she had spoken before, yet it rolled off her tongue like a liquid composed of sound. So alien and human, mixing and polymerizing together like a seamless stream of words. As the words left her throat, the liquid stirred and swirled like the tide of an ocean, vague shapes forming and unforming in the swirling vortex.
Suddenly, the elixir spilled from the bowl, flowing onto the floor and then streaming onto the walls, becoming an opulent black viscous tar that spread into a door-like formation before a gradual creaking groan was heard as it hardened like ice. It cracked and tensed before it then broke, the smell of dried flowers filling the room as she opened her eyes at the incantation's end.
Vera gasped and stood up, staring at what had formed in front of her, seeing a yellow sky with black stars that swirled and changed with each moment. Sounds that she couldn't describe and ones that resembled a grand party with cheers, laughter, twinkling glasses.
She turned back to her home, looking at her degrees and all of her possessions that she had acquired after all these years. Vera was now 32, she had her doctorate, had enough money to get her nearly anything she wanted, and even a moderately nice job. Now, she was just going to throw that all away for her morbid curiosity. It was a second later that she decided that it was worth giving up.
Curiosity overtaking her, Vera entered the gate to Alagadda.
Suddenly, when she entered the gate, she found all personal belongings removed and her clothes replaced with the manifested outfit resemble those worn at masquerade balls, most especially those associated with the Carnival of Venice, and a mask had been fitted on her face. An attempt revealed to her that the mask could not be removed but the rest of the attire can be discarded as she revealed when the dress shifted when she pulled at it. The majority of the inhabitants are dressed and adorned in a similar fashion, but she noticed that there was somewhat organic quality to their costumes, mentally describing it as chitinous.
Feeling the dress, she mentally made a note to try and find a reflective surface to see what her mask looked like. But all thoughts were removed from her head as a gasp escaped her throat when she saw the city before her.
It was more beautiful than anything Ian described it as. The sky has been described as yellow and containing an indeterminate number of black stars, corresponding with no known or even hypothesized constellations. Buildings are shaped in such a manner as to suggest them being carved from a single seamless material. Black, white, yellow, and red are the only colors to reportedly occur within the city. Architecture is non-Euclidean and the normal laws of gravity do not apply, thus she observed inhabitants climbing a stairway upside-down, but based on their own gravity source, they are climbing normally.
She then noticed that the city had the odor of dried flowers with a hint of mold or a scent not unlike that of old books. The actual size of the city has been difficult to measure but it appears to be located on an island, surrounded by a black ocean. She couldn't tell the composition of the liquid from this distance, but it appeared to be more viscous than water.
Suddenly, a hypnagogic malaise came over her as her eyes were exploring the city, a delirium like that of a dream's, a haze in her head like when she was drunk from a festive party and that she had sampled every drink. She regained enough of her senses to begin exploring the city, seeing the inhabitants in their constant state of partying and decadence.
When she started to lose her senses, someone wrapped their arms around her torso and slowly pulled her into the massive orgies that spanned the cities. Warm porcelain-feeling hands undid the dress and slowly pulled it from her form, leaving her bare skin exposed to the air of Alagadda while a variety of prehensile appendages crawled across her body, her face heating up under her mask but didn't resist.
Suddenly, a phallic appendage slithered around her leg and into her crouch, forcing a loud gasp out of her mouth. She turned her aroused gaze at the being, one that had a cracked mask with a faint smile. She couldn't tell if it was male or female, nor did she care. Vera was then pinned to the walls of the court she was in, wrapping her legs around whatever is making love to her and caressing its porcelain skin.
Vera felt her mind go as they continued to consummate in the courts of Alagadda, losing chunks of her rational and scientific mind to the pleasures of the city. She embraced the being and leaned into it, lapping her tongue on its neck like its blood was wine, her nails digging into her partner's skin, and letting out gasps of pleasure from this experience. Vaguely, she saw several others like her. fornicating and drinking sweet-smelling wine, possessing shapes that were both human and vaguely human in this maddening dance.
It was coming to a climax, intensifying and ripping away the rest of her thoughts in her head. She screamed out in pleasure; a sound that joined a cacophony composed of noises like it. In that moment of bliss, Vera collapsed onto the cold floor that was so smooth and brushed against her skin, feeling as if she would melt away into insanity.
Suddenly, the smell of wine began filling her nostrils as a feeling of wetness came over her like she was laying in an empty pool that was slowly starting to be filled with the most luscious mead. It slowly covered her, submerging her in a massive growing pool of wine, washing her in the madness of the Red Lord. It seemed like she was floating in eternity, no longer thinking of anything before her, breathing in the liquid sensation of madness that she swam in.
As it passed, she felted something hardening around her and hugging her skin like a body suit, touching every part of her except her face that was covered by the mask and her blond hair. Suddenly, it was like whatever skintight thing covering her body was akin to her skin itself, before she felt herself lowering until she fell to the floor and still submerged in the wine.
In with her mind shattered and whatever pieces trying to reconstruct it, she could no longer stay conscious and fell into a deep sleep.
After her eyes fluttered opened, Hadley looked up to see the ceiling of the Court, unchanged yet everchanging at the same time. Before she could even moan from exhaustion from last night's experience, a woman walked up to her, nude and with short white hair. It was then that she noticed the woman's arm was black as coal and that her mask was missing its right eye, replaced by a golden marking that resembled an eye with a cross shaped pupil.
The woman extended a hand for her to take, pulling her up before Hadley noticed there were several others like the woman: having porcelain skin and masks covering their faces, each with their own unique features.
It was then that Hadley noticed that she had the same pale skin as the other members of the Court, feeling her face to confirm that her face was now a mask like the others, while she still possessed her long blond hair and the scar on her stomach that her dear mother gave her all those years ago present like when it first healed all those years ago.
It was then that she finally noted a weight on her back, causing her to turn in curiosity, only to gasp behind her mask.
Sitting on her shoulders were massive chiropteran wings with red membranes and coarse black fur, seemingly able to fold into a cloak-like form. In the blink of an eye, her nude form was now clothed in a red dress that hugged her porcelain skin with gold floral scroll patterns, bandaged arms with red markings that resembled eyes, her hands now covered in golden circuit-like markings that connected to the palms and came to a mark that resembled a eye with slitted pupils.
Her hair tie had come undone, now letting her now platinum blond locks flow freely in the wind. A reflection in the corner of her eye revealing the mask that covered her face; a blank mask with red floral scroll patterns and eye like markings, only possessing twin eyeholes but behind them were nothing more than voids.
A hand went up to her face in confirmation that she wasn't seeing things. Was this her now? A member of this decadent court? She tried to think back but it was like a heavy fog had settled in her brain, unable to recall a thing from before she had come to this city.
As if she had never existed until this moment.
Suddenly, the Ambassador of Alagadda suddenly appeared before her. It was just like Ian's drawings had depicted; a black humaniod that towered over her with skin that resembled a latex black bodysuit, clawed fingers with golden rings, gold patterns covering several parts of its body, having a blank face and stiletto-like feet. It then started speaking in a language that she could not and never could understand.
Though she didn't understand what it was saying, it just stood so damn proud with every word dripping in narcissistic venom, putting a hand up to where its mouth would have been. A moment later, the Ambassador put a hand to her head and then spoke in deep reverberating words:
"Fiat Voluntas Tua."
Suddenly, her eyes shot open, but she never remembered closing them.
XXX
8 hours later...
Vera Hadley's House
Vera gasped as her eyes shot open, scrambling to sit upwards before she realized where she was. She was back in her house, one that was untouched and pristine as ever; no shadows, voices, moving objects, insane markings, or anything. The orange wall where she had enacted that ritual was untouched and clean, with no signs of tampering anywhere. The sun was covered by endless grey clouds outside, something that she was glad for as so the sun wasn't in her eyes.
That and it was weirdly quiet this time of year, something that she hadn't noticed yet.
She pants and pants, looking around the room with her hand to her heart, seeming like she had suffered a heart attack. What happened last night? Last she remembered was performing that ritual and entering the gate. After that... everything seemed blurry, like a dream almost.
Hadley groaned, sitting up as she put a hand to her head, "God, what happened last night?" She looked down and saw that she was laying on her couch in her red undergarments, an empty bottle of wine laying on the floor with small droplets staining the carpet, and an empty wine glass in her hand that had stains on her palm and fingers.
Groaning again, she got up, placed the glass down on the stand next to her couch, and walked to her kitchen after putting a bathrobe that happened to be laying on the floor so that she wouldn't have to let any creep nearby see her in her underwear. The director was glad that she took the weekend off, meaning she could recuperate from this experience.
Rubbing her eyes, Vera poured some coffee powder into a filter before pouring water into the machine and closing it, letting it rumble and pour out that sweet black nectar into the pot. Her tired eyes took in the sight of it filling, before she suddenly burst out laughing. It was a hearty, almost noblewoman-like laugh that came from the deepest parts of her heart. It felt... nice.
A few minutes later, she calmed down enough for her to only chuckle slightly.
"God, Vera..." She let herself continue to chuckle, pouring a glass of coffee for herself, "You may need to take a few more days off. It really seems like you're losing your..." She trailed off when her eyes caught one particular object that contradicted her rationalizations.
It was the lavastone bowl that she had used for the ritual last night.
Suddenly scared, Hadley slowly turned her eyes to her right hand and slowly turned the appendage so that her palm was facing her face. And to her horror, her fears were confirmed.
On her palm was the same circuit-like markings and the eye of the King on her palm.
As such, Director Hadley was tainted by the madness of the Hanged King. Another victim of the city of Alagadda.
XXX
3 weeks later...
North Cross Research Facility
Ian awoke back in his cell, a blanket covering him with the lights off. He sat up and leaned against the wall like it was a headboard, rubbing his eyes and exhaling, waiting for whatever they had prepared for him today.
Suddenly, it was like a thick veil had been lifted from his face. Suddenly, everything seemed so clear, like the glass of his sanity had been repaired. He blinked and looked around the cell he found himself in, seeing that he was now nothing but skin and bones and that he was wearing a set of clothes that made him look like a mental patient.
"I feel..." Ian muttered out, feeling like he had just crawled out of a pit of darkness, "Calm..." He looked at his hand, a confused expression crossing his face before he started to look around the building that he was standing in. It was like he had when to sleep and woke up in strange times. He looked at a clock, expecting it to be near 5 or 6 AM.
Instead, it was 3PM. 3:45 PM to be exact.
Ian stared at the clock before he slowly got out of his bed, knowing that something was wrong. He walked to the door of the cell he was in, peering through the porthole of the door. But he was not prepared for what he saw.
It was a bloodbath outside the cell: the floors were covered in a small river of blood with the bodies of the staff and guards bobbing through the surface, the grey walls covered in blood and entrails with some of the bodies nailed to the walls in varying states of mutilation, faces ripped off, chest cavities torn open, limbs removed, and symbols lining the walls that were painted in blood.
He soon noticed several empty bullet casings that were bobbing to the surface, weapons laying on the floor or against the wall. Handprints and body prints dotting the lower half of the walls, and the pungent smell of blood, rot, and smoke bolting up to his nose even as he wafted it away.
Before anything could run through his head upon seeing this, a noise echoed through the corridors. It was so deep and guttural, like that of a beast that never was coming into existence and its state one of agony. The sound of slithering followed soon after, followed then by a cry and choking sounds that slowly grew louder.
Ian, fearing for his life, quickly got under the window so that whatever was out there wouldn't see him, pressing himself to the door and hoping that he wouldn't attract the thing's attention.
The light that peered through the porthole was soon blotted out by hundreds of shadows shaped like leeches slithering over the glass, the sounds of slurping, flesh tearing, choking, and gulping soon came through like a horrid song of gluttony. Suddenly, the sounds of liquids being spilled came through and footfalls came through as well, continuing on with the footfalls increasing a hundred-fold.
Loud gulps and the sound of ripping flesh then joined the cacophony of these things, with the sound of sloshing liquid slowly fading away. Suddenly, Ian noticed that it was seemed like it hadn't noticed him, like he had suddenly become invisible to the world.
It continued for what felt like hours before they seemed to pass, the porthole uncovered so light could finally shine through, like a beacon of hope to come. When it finally ceased, Ian turned his eyes up to the porthole and hesitantly stood up to view through it.
And what he saw caused his jaw to slacken.
The hall was now completely cleared of all blood and bodies, leaving only the weapons and empty casings of spent bullets. No traces were left, not the river, not the writings or the handprints, not even a droplet or splatter of red.
What the hell could have caused that?
Ian shook his head, he had to get out of here before that thing... or things came back. He felt around the door, trying to find a knob or latch before he found that the door had neither, even the porthole could be used as the glass wasn't actually glass but a polymer or polycarbonate which eliminated the chance of him breaking it with something in the cell.
"Crap." Ian breathed as he looked around for something that might help him escape. There was the vent, but it was too high up. There maybe was the fire alarm, but that might attract unwanted attention. Frustrated, Ian ran a hand through his hair and breathed out, "Okay, think, Ian."
Suddenly, an alarm rang out and the door opened, letting him out of the cell.
Ian looked on with a dumbstruck expression before he muttered, "Okay..." But he decided not to waste this opportunity and slowly crept out of the cell, making sure to be as quiet as possible.
Something bumped against his foot, causing him to turn his sight to the ground. It was the body of a guard that was left behind, face down and seemingly void of blood, lightweight, and hollowed from whatever frenzy claimed it. The mental patient grabbed the .44 Magnum from the dead guard, a Taurus Raging Bull if he recalled it correctly, took whatever ammunition was left, and headed out.
XXX
The halls were so quiet and still, like a thing had been through here and stolen all sound. The only things that he could even discern with his hearing was a faint buzzing that came from some lights above him, and the second being the footfalls he made as he walked through the silent corridor. As he continued walking, the silence became almost deafening, even his footfalls seemed more like pads of droplets.
He kept walking and soon, all sound was soon gone. Ian stopped and looked around, noticing that there was only silence. He slammed his hand on the wall in an attempt to produce sound, but nothing came, like the area had been put on mute. He even attempted to scream out in a desperate attempt to make noise, but nothing came out of his mouth.
Starting to get scared, Ian frantically looked around, pointing the gun in whatever direction he was facing. The intersection he was at was fourway, meaning whatever was causing this could be coming from any of the four directions or above or below, sweat began pouring down Ian's face as he wiped his brow and kept watch.
Suddenly, there was a feeling of unease that came over him like a massive flood of cold biting death. Ian slowly turned with sweat pouring down his face, eyes wide, and hands shaking, fear coursing through him as he saw something that came from his nightmares.
It was a tall vaguely humanoid thing; it towered over him by several heads and almost touching the ceiling, a cylindrical head with a wide disk or umbrella-like headpiece connected to the top, its entire body was concealed by black twin robes, one covering the upper part and connected at the neck, and the other concealing the rest of its body and touching the ground.
It moved towards him, not appearing to walk but to glide, causing Ian to scramble away in an attempt to stay alive. Its robed sleeves then raised to reveal bandage-like and bandage-like appendages that lashed at nothing. Before he could even react again, it opened a diamond shaped eye that blazed a blinding white light shined out.
In a panic, Ian's instincts kicked in and he squeezed the trigger.
The bullet blasted from the barrel, but no sound was made as Ian's hand suffered whiplash from the recoil. The bullet speared through the air and pierced through the diamond-shaped eye, extinguishing the light blaring from it and blowing a massive hole in the thing's head. Sound suddenly resumed, causing Ian to hear his own breath again and the sizzling sound from the gun in his suddenly numb hand.
A black inky substance then began weeping out of the wound, causing it to spill onto the floor and for Ian to scramble away, scared of what it might do to him. The robed monster suddenly let out a soft moaning sound and abruptly fell to... what he assumed whatever it had for knees before falling face first onto the floor, the black liquid swiftly forming a pool around the weeping wound and causing Ian to scramble to his feet to avoid getting the fluid all over him.
The mental patient stared at the monster he just killed, something that he'd wanted to do ever since he was a kid reading comic books! Ian couldn't help but to make an incredibly dorky smile and tried to look cool by blowing the smoke off the barrel of the gun.
XXX
A few hours after that moment, Ian checked to make sure that the gun was still loaded before closing the chamber and heading off, not noticing or ignoring the sight and sound of the thing's body dissolving into a massive pool of ink and tarry chunks of flesh.
Arriving at a pair of doors, Ian noted that the windows were covered in dry blood and the paint had some scratch marks, some even deep enough to pierce the steel frame. A little worried, Ian shook it off and put the gun in his pocket, pushing the door open to reveal another corridor that was darker with dead or flickering lights.
Pulling the gun back out, Ian turned a corner and stopped when he saw someone in the corridor. They were what he assumed was one of the patients here at the facility, tall and dark haired but their body was covered by a hooded garment that resembled a trenchcoat and a cloak. And it was then that he saw, when they walked into a space in the hall where the lights flickered, that it was made from flayed faces.
He saw it turn to him, only for Ian to hold in a gasp. The man's eyes had been gouged out, leaving only bloodied black holes in their place, blood and ocular fluid gushing down his cheeks and into the face splitting grin that was held in place by razor wire. A shrill cackle issued from the madman's throat as he brandished a knife at nothing but thin air.
Ian froze but broke out of it and slowly pressed himself against the wall before going silent as to not attract the attention of the manic, becoming as still as a statue when the danger slowly came closer and closer.
"See no evil, speak no evil..." The man mumbled in bare coherency as he passed the still Ian, "See no evil, speak no evil. See no evil, speak no evil. See no evil, speak no evil. See no evil, speak no evil. See no evil, speak no evil. See no evil, speak no evil..." The voice began to fade as the man turned a corner, before Ian flinched when he heard the heavy opening of a door before the loud slamming of it closing.
Ian waited a few seconds after the psycho passed before he let out a loud breath, looking back to make sure he didn't attract the psycho's attention. When he was sure he didn't, Ian promptly sprinted like death itself was after him, bursting through the door and rushing down the halls, in a mad attempt to get as far away from that madman as possible.
Before he entered another hallway, he heard the sound of door opening and a mad yell echoing through the corridor.
"SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL! SEE NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL!"
He didn't need to look back to know who was following him. Ian's desperation skyrocketed as he started sprinting to where his legs started to go numb from strain and adrenaline, swam diving into another hallway to hopefully throw off the madman but the increasing volume of the shouts proved him otherwise.
The second the psycho turned the corner, Ian fired. The bullet pierced through the madman's arm, causing him to drop his knife and clutch his wounded arm, creating a sound like he was yelling out in agony and laughing at the pain. Ian took this opportunity to dash away, but the psycho quickly recovered and started chasing after him.
Ian fired again, hitting the madman's shoulder but he kept laughing before trying to swing his knife at him. The patient went about 100 feet before the psycho caught up but to him and slashed at his shoulders, missing them before Ian kicked the bastard in the sternum, sending him back and tried to shoot him again, but he missed and attempted to skewer Ian with his knife.
The teenager barely managed to catch the hand that was holding the knife, struggling against the maniac's surprisingly intense strength. Sweat poured down his head as the knife got closer and closer to his face, before Ian slowly got an idea. He twisted himself to the right, letting the maniac stab the ground where he was just a second ago before grabbing the barrel of his gun and pistol-whipping the man in the face.
A cry came from the psycho's mouth before Ian stomped him into the wall, before then rushing off to find the next set of doors to lock this bastard in these halls. A slash came behind him, but he twirled out of the way and kicked the madman in the face again, before then seeing the doors out of here. Taking no chances, Ian stomped on the madman's face, breaking the latter's nose and causing him to yell out before he broke into a sprint towards the doors.
Suddenly, a white-hot searing pain went through his calf as he abruptly fell to the floor with a cry of pain ripping from his mouth. Ian turned his head to see the maniac's hooked knife embedded in his leg, not deep enough to hit bone but still hurt like hell.
And just like that, he saw the psycho turning a corner, laughing maniacally and staggering, blood weeping from his nose and eyeholes as the Glasgow grim grew wider and revealed all off his bloodied and meat covered teeth. His laugh then reared ear-piercing heights, shrill, screeching, and scratching before he broke into a mad sprint towards the downed boy.
Horrified, Ian started crawling to the dropped gun, desperate to survive.
The maniac grew closer, droplets of spittle and blood splattering out of his mouth in his feral dash to kill.
Ian's hand reached out to the grip of the revolver.
"SEESEESEESEESEESEESEESEESEESEESEESEE!" Maddened words ripped from the psycho's throat as he devolved into a feral roar towards Ian.
His fingers brushed the grip before pulling it into his hand.
The psycho roared ferally as he sprinted, nearly only a few feet away from the boy.
Suddenly, Ian snapped his arm towards the psycho, revealing the gun in his hand. Without even an ounce of hesitation, Ian pulled the trigger.
The bullet pierced through the maniac's stomach causing him to grasp it and cough out blood through a mad cackle. Ian fired again, causing a bullet to pierce the maniac's heart, before another shot pierced the skull and brain. A few seconds of agonizing silence later, the psycho fell down like a sack of wet meat, blood pooling around his corpse.
Ian pants, nearly pissing himself from the stress of the situation. His eyes then turned to the knife in his calf, the wound had begun clotting but it was still painful as hell. Deciding 'screw it', Ian ripped off a piece of his bathrobe as a makeshift bandage, before he got to the hard part.
Gripping the handle of the knife, Ian started breathing heavily through his nose, trying to calm himself down so that the pain wasn't gonna be as bad.
"Okay... you've seen movies, Ian." Ian spoke to himself as he mentally prepared for the sheering pain he was about to experience, "Remember, it's less painful if you don't see it coming, so do that trick. On the count of three." He then breathed in and then let out, "ONE!"
He ripped the knife out of his calf, causing it to erupt in white hot agony!
"FUUUUCK!" Ian roared from the searing pain in his leg but stopped and grinded his teeth together before he then wrapped the makeshift bandage around the wound, tightening the knot the tightest he could as to stop any more blood from leaking out. After making sure that it had put enough pressure to stop the bleeding, Ian almost collapsed onto the ground, panting as the endorphins slowly began to numb him.
Ian then remembered that the gun might be out of ammo.
Grabbing the gun, Ian opened the chamber to see that it was filled with empty rounds that he shook out before digging into his pocket and fishing out several bullets, letting them fall to the floor with a pinging sound for each one that hit the tile ground. Forcing himself to sit up, Ian slowly loaded the gun, bullet by bullet before the six holes were filled and he closed the chamber.
Forcing himself to stand up after stuffing the unused bullets in his pocket, Ian limped out of the corridor to another part of the facility.
XXX
Ian limped out of another door that read STAIRS, revealing a massive stairwell that descended further and further to where he couldn't see the bottom. Squinting his eyes, Ian saw the lowest floor of the stairwell, where the door to the director's office was. All he had to do was get to the office, find the Noise Flush console, and book it the hell out of there in case anything survived.
The boy suddenly blinked in confusion. When did he know all that?
He shook the confusion off. He had bigger fish to fry.
Ian limped to the stairs, grasping the rails to make it easier for him to walk, and then began the slow descent down. By the time he descended two floors though, he had to stop because the pain in his leg, panting and sweating like a pig so much that it began to dampen his clothes. Ian looked over the railing to see how much farther and proceeded to groan when he discovered he still had eight floors to go.
After forcing himself to suck it up, Ian continued to go down the stairs despite the pain in his leg. After 15 agonizing minutes, he finally was able reach the bottom of the stairs before his leg gave out.
Something then began pounding on the door suddenly, causing him to jump and point his gun at the door. Whatever was behind it was held back by the bolt lock that was sitting above the knob.
It continued. There was no window in the grey painted door so he couldn't see what was pounding against it, sounding like the fists of a gorilla or ape but the noises on the other side were like that of a beast from the darkest pits of the ocean. Ian stared as the doorframe started to crack under the force of the strikes from whatever was on the other side, before he decided to do the stupid thing and check it out.
The pounding grew louder, more intense as he got closer, reaching a climax as he came down the last step of the stairs. The barrel was firmly pointed at the door that was practically thrashing as he continued to get closer. The air seemed to get thicker that the patient slowly seemed to breath sharper, the gun seemed to shake as his hand did, a sense of viciousness began creeping up his spine, and a deep sense of wrongness began to overtake him.
Suddenly, when Ian grasped the knob of the door, the pounding ceased. He looked at the door in confusion, wondering what just happened and letting go of the knob to see if the pounding would return. Nothing happened and nothing kept happening. Thinking that it might be a trick by the thing to catch him when he opened the door, Ian pressed his ear to the door to hear anything on the other side.
All he heard was a faint buzzing sound, both electric and organic.
More than a little unsettled, Ian undid the lock and grasped the knob again, knowing it was a bad idea but not having another idea. It seemed like his hand refused to move out of fear, gripping it so tightly that it seemed like the blood slowly stopped flowing in the veins of his palm. His breath grew ragged; what if was a trick? What if the thing had some weird muting ability like that umbrella headed freak? What if it was just hiding and staying silent to kill him when he entered? What if... WHAT IF?!
Ian shook his head, shaking those thoughts out of his head. The only way to the Director's office was this way and going the other way will take way too long and way too dangerous. Which meant that he had no choice.
Steeling himself for what may be his last few seconds of life, Ian inhaled deeply before he quickly turned the knob and forced the door open, brandishing the gun at the hallway with a loud yell.
There was nothing.
Ian paused and looked around, point the gun up, down, left, right, and center as he searched for anything related to whatever was pounding on the door. The hallway was empty, darkened with only periodic lights providing illumination to whoever was still living. Other than that, and a dark brown sludge that smelled like old books, there was nothing in the hall other than Ian.
After seeing that he was alone, Ian breathed a sigh of relief and muttered under his breath as he pocketed his revolver, "Stupid thing must have left..."
Which contrasted the question in his head: If there was nothing in the hallway... what was pounding against the door?
XXX
It seemed like he was walking for hours down a single hall. Maybe due to the pain in his leg, maybe because he was slowly going insane again. Or maybe it was the fact that he was bored out of his skull.
You'd think after being nearly killed almost four times now from that umbrella headed thing, the freak with that coat made of faces, that swarm of leaches, or whatever was banging on the door, that he'd be terrified out of his mind while walking down this corridor. But due to nothing happening for quite a while, he, perhaps foolishly, believed that he was in the clear for now.
And that meant that all this walking was slowly taking a toll on his patience, so one can understand his rather apathetic expression at the moment. Though his leg was still throbbing like a mother, which at least alleviated the bored a little.
"Okay, there has to be a directory or a sign somewhere." Ian mumbled to himself as he looked around the walls for at least a marking on the wall. But he admitted he was pushing his luck when various sections of the walls were covered in that same brown sludge which he was praying wasn't shit. At least, it didn't smell like shit.
Thankfully, his luck finally won out when he saw a sign that had been ripped from the ceiling was laying on the floor covered in sludge that conveniently showed that the director's office was just up ahead.
"Oh, thank god." Ian breathed in relief.
Suddenly, his joy was shot in the heart when he heard a noise. A very loud, very familiar noise.
Now terrified, Ian slowly turned around to where the deafening sound of slithering was coming from. Down the empty hall that he came from was the same thing that he encountered in his cell. And it was coming after him.
Forgetting the pain in his leg, Ian broke into a mad dash towards the director's office, the sounds of his loud footfalls echoing through the corridor. Ian's breath became heavy as he forced his injuried leg to sprint across this impossibly long hallway in a desperate attempt to escape the swarm coming his way. Hope seemed to come his way when a pair of doors became visible.
Ian quickly got to the twin pair of blue painted doors and started a desperate attempt to open them, shaking them and pounding on them frantically. The slithering started to get louder and louder, making Ian more and more desperate.
"COME ON! COME ON!" The mental patient screamed out as he desperately tried to open the doors before he happened to look right for a moment and then his head snapped back to the right.
On the right was a staircase that led to a door with a sign on the right of the stairs that read: DIRECTOR'S OFFICE with an arrow pointing upward.
"Oh, I'm an idiot." Ian growled before he sprinted up the stairs.
The moment he reached the top, Ian kicked the door open with his non-injured leg, arriving to see another hallway. It was a white hallway with opened cells and torn apart metal doors, covered in blood and bodies. At the end of the hall was another door that had a plaque on it that read DIRECTOR'S OFFICE.
Ian would have questioned it before he heard the slithering get louder again and promptly sprinted towards the door.
The boy tried to stop himself from tripping over the dead bodies or slip on all the blood that was covering the floor, before he broke into a mad dash when the slithering grew almost deafening. Splattering grew louder as the blood reached ankle deep, hyperventilating, heart pounding against his ribs, sweat running down his head, and his legs slowly growing numb with pain.
Upon reaching the office door, Ian swan-dived into the room before slamming the door closed with his leg. A loud sound of relief escaped his mouth as he lays down, staring at the ceiling before he looked around the office.
It was a rather stylized office with wooden walls glossy with varnish, green carpet floor, a pair brown leather armchairs with a small stood in between, shelves filled with books, a cabinet filled with liquor bottles, an Italian Mable desk with a green mat, a cup filled with pens, some papers, and a name plate that read:
VERA HADLEY
DIRECTOR
Behind the desk was a brown leather armchair with numerous golden studs, and what seemed like a big red button placed directly in the center of the desk. Ian looked around the office with a bewildered expression. How the hell did the director convince the builders to install this kind of office?
Suddenly, the glass of the door began to crack and the sound of slithering started to bleed through into the office, likely the swarm trying to get in.
Ian immediately shot to his feet, his eyes wide and looking around, seeing that he had nowhere to run. Then he remembered the red button and ran towards it. The metal panel nailed in place on the desk read ACTIVATE SECURITY GATE.
The mental patient blinked; how did she afford that function?
Suddenly, another breaking sound rang out, causing Ian's gaze to snap to the door and seeing that the glass was incredibly close to shattering. And that there were at the very least several dozens of cat-sized leeches covering the frame.
Saving the incredulous thoughts for later, Ian slammed his hand down on the button so hard that he swears that maybe he cracked some bones in his hand. An alarm rang out before a pair of grey doors automatically closed and sealed the old door off, followed by a series of thick metal security doors that locked together in a series of odd locking formations before a massive door that was 4 inches thick lowered and cut the entrance off, sealing him inside the office.
An electronic voice called out, "SECURITY DOOR ACTIVATED." followed by a red light bleeping on. The slithering was silenced finally, followed by a series of loud clanks that silenced any other noises save for the sound the electronics.
Ian almost fainted in relief, plopping down on the brown leather chair that the director had behind her desk, resting to the point of near passing out. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Ian almost laughed in hysteria at the five near death experience he had... today? Or was it a week?
He couldn't remember.
Running his hands down his face, the boy opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of what he read is Jack Danials. There were some glasses that he could use to drink. With that, he took one glass and poured some of the caramel-colored liquid into the cup before setting the bottle down.
Well, it was just like what his uncle, "Drink em while you got em."
"To good health." Ian toasted to no one and took a sip from the glass... only to gag when the liquid touched his tongue and ran down his throat, practically feeling the germs in his mouth and throat die on contact with the caramel liquid. After the feeling passed, Ian looked at the glass incredulously, "God! How can anybody drink this shit!?"
Okay, now where was the Noise flush console?
He looked around the office, checking to see if there were anything related to the console. After a minute though, Ian noticed that there were some lines in one part of the walls, almost like a panel that would open up. Seeing that, he tried to force it open with both his hands and then his gun, after turning the safety on because he wasn't an idiot, but neither work.
Ian exhaled in frustration, putting his hands on his hips, "Crap..." He looked around the room again before his eyes turned to the desk, "Maybe there's something there."
He walked to the desk and looked under it, only to blink when he saw a small switch sitting under the table. "Well, that looks promising." Ian promptly flipped the switch, and sure enough, the panel immediately lowered to reveal a console with a large red button and several smaller green buttons.
"YES!" Ian cheered before running to the console, pressing all the little green buttons on the console that started glow to signal selection, before his hand hovered over the red button.
"Please let this work."
He slammed his hand on the button again. Suddenly, there was a massive wave of pure static noise that came from behind the walls. Ian didn't have time to see if it worked as the noise made him faint.
XXX
What he assumed was hours later, Ian found himself pacing around the office and drinking from his glass of Jack Daniels as he had finally got used to the taste, mostly out of boredom. He checked the surveillance cameras to see that the swarm was dead, but he was too exhausted to venture out of the office at the moment, despite the fact that he had to sleep on the floors.
But... Jesus, the things he saw on those cameras... There were all kinds of creatures, scientists and guards fleeing from whatever danger was present, Frankensteinian patchwork creatures, bodies in various states of mutilation and decay, and other stuff that he didn't want to think about. What the hell went on in this facility?
After a minute, Ian sat down on the director's chair and decided to look through the desk, since he had nothing else to do. In some drawers were typical stuff like papers, folders, spare pens or pencils, paperwork, and even a setsquare for some reason. Ian picked up the setsquare with a raised eyebrow before he shrugged and set it down, looking through the other drawers.
One drawer had something else though: it was an empty cassette player and a set of three tapes.
Raising an eyebrow again, Ian took the cassette player and tapes out and placed them on the desk, stacking the latter three ontop on each other. Wondering what the tapes had in them and due to the fact that he had nothing better to do, Ian opened up the device and placed the top tape in the slot before closing it and rewinding it to the beginning before hitting play.
The tape began in earnest with heavy breathing, "You see... humans... are a unique type of pest; multiplying... and poisoning our world, all while enforcing a structure of their own: a deeply... unnatural structure. Where others saw order, I saw a straitjacket: a cruel, oppressive world dictated by made-up rules. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades! Each life, a faded, lesser copy of the one before! WAKE UP, EAT, WORK, SLEEP, REPRODUCE, AND DIE! Everyone... is just... waiting. Waiting... for it all... to be... over. All while performing in a silly, terrible play, day after day. But I could not do that. I could not close off my mind and join in the madness; I could not... pretend. Then I realized... I didn't have to."
It ended there.
"Well, someone's into nihilism..." Ian deadpanned, hiding the fact that he was disturbed by the message. After that, he took the tape out and placed the second tape in the cassette player, rewinding it again and then pressed play.
The voice from the tape had a haunted tone to it, like a traumatized veteran of the Nazi death camps, "Thought I'd make it the whole way without screaming. Hacked my way through the sandboarding. Even bit my tongue when they brought out the knives. But the fire...dammit...I screamed like you wouldn't believe. I'm disappointed, but at least now I understand the breaking. Once my flesh started melting, I'd have thrown my own mother under a bus to make it stop. Every insurgent brought before me will know the same pain. And when they break, we will be like brothers. Having stared down death...and flinched."
Ian didn't speak after that tape, looking incredibly disturbed at the tape's recording. He took that one out and set it far from him. There was the last tape but this one gave him pause as it read; PLAY ME.
Raising an eyebrow again, the troubled boy inserted the tape into the cassette player and rewinded it to the beginning before pressing the play button.
This time, the tape was silent except for a few moments. He waited for a minute, but nothing came on, before he sighed and decided that it was a dud. Suddenly, a voice came on the tape as his finger hovered over the Eject button.
"Don't press that button."
Ian definitely didn't push the button after that, his eyes wide and his eyebrows at his hairline. What caught him off guard was that the voice sounded like his.
"Yeah, I know this is weird as hell, but you gotta trust me." The recording continued, "And before you say anything, yes: I'm you from the past that pre-recorded this message so that I can talk to you."
"Why don't I remember recording this then?" Ian questioned the tape. He knows that it was a pre-recorded message, but since it seemed to know what he was about to say, he decided to go along with it.
"I don't have time to explain, just listen."
Ian sighed and leaned back into the chair, putting his feet up, "Okay, past me; shoot."
"Alright." The recording responded, "In case you're wondering, you've been in the hospital since September. And by the time you're watching this, it's almost New Year's."
Ian's eyes went wide again, breathing out, "Whoa."
"Yeah. Anyway, back on topic, I'm recording this so that you'll be caught up to speed on what's happening. Obviously, some bad shit went down at this place and now there an assload of monsters crawling the halls and you're too scared to go out of the office. If you're worried about the swarm, don't; they're long dead by now due to the Noise Flush and anything that survived won't be back for a while. As for what happened here... do you want me to explain?"
Ian mulled this over for a second before he shrugged, "Why not."
"Alright, but you'll wish I hadn't." The voice on the tape then cleared his throat and began, "It all began when they discovered that sample that Mr. Irons took from the mine. After discovering that the crystal contained Warp energy, and don't interrupt me because I'll explain in a minute," It said as Ian opened his mouth, promptly closing it, "They used the crystal for their experiments; exposing some helpless sods to it and waited until there was a reaction. The mutations ranged from mild to aggressive, to where the latter mutations had to be put down."
"Jesus."
"I know. However, they wouldn't have to resort to using mental patients for long as the government began sending all the people that began to mutate to this facility, paying off whoever was willing to stay silent and making the people that weren't disappear. Several of their experiments discovered that there were trace amounts of Warp energy that were still in their veins, so they attempted to harvest this in an attempt to make a cure."
"Well, did they succeed?" Ian asked, staring to get scared of what was coming.
"I'm getting to that." The tape continued, "After several failed attempts, some progress was made through the use of distilling the mutants' blood, creating pure liquid Warp energy; they nicknamed it, Ichor. Limitless potential in that shit. As such, they hoped that since it could cause mutations, it could also be used to reverse or stop them. But... things go real messy real fast."
"W-What happened?"
"Too many failures, not enough successes." The tape responded, "The Ichor caused even more rampant mutations that the crystal did, causing several of them to be put down so they didn't hurt anyone else. Eventually, too many bodies came up that they had to have their bodies be thrown into the incinerator that had just been installed, also due to the fact that they had to get rid of the bodies of their test subjects and that nothing was left of them. If the government found out what Hadley ordered, they would have pulled the funding from the facility almost immediately."
"Why did they do this then?!"
"Pure goddamn desperation." The recording responded, "More people were starting to mutate at such an exponential rate that the director and the head doctors decided 'screw it' and went full Auschwitz and Unit 731 in their search for a cure. They did everything: vivisections, torture, removing and reattaching limbs, organ transplants, blood and DNA harvesting, all kinds of invasive and experimental surgery, and stuff that would make you puke your insides out. Some got lucky; stuffed in a cell and played with, toyed with, experimented with, trying to see if there was anything useful. The ones with psychic powers were the really unlucky ones; they were tortured, physically, mentally, and emotionally abused, and constantly subjected to torturous experiments to see how their powers would react."
Ian put a hand to his mouth in horror.
"Yeah, it was that bad. The only reason Hadley managed to get away with it was due to her having a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. Regardless, they didn't do it out of sadism like Mengele, as the experiments and lack of morals were only due to them being desperate to stop the mutations. And it worked... kinda. Their experiments managed to create an orange liquid that would inoculate anyone, stopping the body from mutating further and halting any progressing mutations."
Ian blinked in surprised, "So, they created a vaccine?"
"No, it's an inoculation, there's a difference." The tape replied, "Regardless, it paid off and the government managed to mass produce it. But eventually, all that incinerating started catching up to them. That brown sludge that covered the walls in the hallway you were walking through? That was what was left of their test subjects. It was supposed to be piped off site, but it kept getting sucked up the intact pipe. The stuff was also saturated with the psychic energy of all the dead Psykers. All that pain, all that torment, all that suffering, all distilled into that gunk..."
Ian stared at the tape, letting the reality sink in before he asked the golden question, "So... what happened?"
For once, the tape was silent before it continued, "To be honest, I don't know. What I do know is that if you want to get out of here, you gotta bite the bullet and get out of the office. If you want the quickest route, the elevator isn't far from here. Take it to the ground floor, the lobby should be just a few feet away, and no matter what happens: GET. TO. THE. FRONT. DOOR."
"Got it." Ian said with a determined expression.
"Good. Get going and good luck." The tape finished. Ian nodded before he went to press the button, only for the tape to interrupt him one more time, "Oh, and by the way? Savor your remaining moments of lucidity. You're not gonna have them much longer."
With that, the tape actually stopped.
Ian stared at it for a few seconds before wondering what that was about. He shook it off, now was the time to get out of here.
The troubled boy slammed his hand on the button again, causing the alarm to ring out and for the gates to slowly unlock its intricate mechanisms before they parted to reveal a now clean and pristine hallway. The doors were still destroyed, but there were no more bodies or blood to distract him.
"Let's go." Ian drew his revolver and walked out of the office.
XXX
The elevator doors parted to reveal a calm Ian, who walked out of the lift and raised his gun, walking out to reveal the lobby of the facility. It was rather spacious, showing the empty receptionist desk, a few chairs and couches due to the waiting room being part of the lobby, and the glass doors of freedom just across the room, just waiting for him to go through.
Suddenly, Ian noticed that there was a chair sitting in the middle of the lobby and that someone was sitting in it.
Raising his revolver, Ian slowly advanced towards the person in the chair, getting closer and closer until he slowly stared to see who was sitting in it. He lowered his gun slightly, before he uttered with a face of complete confusion, "Director Hadley?"
It really was Hadley, sitting in the chair with her legs crossed before she stood up; Ian then saw that she was wearing a blood red dress that showed a generous amount of her body, her bright blond hair down and flowing in the wind, and her blue eyes shining like sapphires. The moment her eyes laid on him, she smiled brightly and placed her hands on his shoulders, not noticing or caring that Ian's revolver was pointed directly at her stomach and his finger on the trigger.
"Ian... you're back..." Vera smiled like a schoolgirl, tears in her eyes like she had been reunited with a long-lost lover.
The teenager merely stared at her, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I knew that the vaccine would work, but not this well." Hadley stated, still smiling serenely with joy, "But I'm glad to see that you're back. Your father was begging you to come back."
"I..." Ian was at a loss for words, "What the hell are you talking about?"
Hadley chuckled as she stepped back from him, "Oh, Ian. You saved me. You opened my eyes." Suddenly, black furred covered chiropteran wings with red membranes sprouted from her back, causing Ian to jump in surprise before her entire body shifted before his eyes.
The red dress that hugged her now porcelain skin with gold floral scroll patterns, bandaged arms with red markings that resembled eyes, her hands now covered in golden circuit-like markings that connected to the palms and came to a mark that resembled a eye with slitted pupils. Her now platinum blond locks flow freely in the wind, a blank mask with red floral scroll patterns and eye like markings, only possessing twin eyeholes but behind them were nothing more than voids. Her wings then folded into a cloak like shape, covering her entirely except her masked face.
Ian's jaw dropped when he backed away from her, the gun shaking in his grip, "What the-?!"
"You opened my eyes, Ian." Hadley said as if she was speaking in three female voices overlapping each other, "I stopped caring about trying to make sense and just it's so... liberating..." She exclaimed almost orgasmically, that immediately creeped him out, "If you want to join us, don't worry; the effects of the vaccine on you are temporary. You'll slowly start to lose lucidity in a few hours."
Ian slowly backed away, looking like he was about to have a panic attack, "I don't understand! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?!"
"You shouldn't have told her about me."
A voice that never was rang out, yet it seemed to sound like his. Hearing the voice than never was, Ian turned to see a shape that he never wished to see, hiding in the shadows like a black cloak of the universe. It was the Ambassador of Alagadda.
The Ambassador slowly advanced towards Ian, who pointed his gun at the thing, knowing it was useless while the black master of Alagadda looked on in amusement.
"Because now I see you. Now we can all see you."
The grip in Ian's hands slowly stared to slacken as the implication set in.
"You... let us in." The Ambassador pointed a clawed finger at him, "And now, you are going to have to let us stay."
The black majesty of Alagadda spread his arms out like a beast of ceremony grand, "Don't you see? All this time, we've been building it! We've been building it... for you."
Ian's eyes widened, but the Ambassador continued, "All that work. All that pain. All of it… for you, our new Oracle."
"And now it's time." Ian suddenly found himself unable to move, stuck as the Ambassador lowered his arms with a single finger, "Time to end it. And we're going to end you, and when you are gone, we are going to end your friends."
The black Ambassador then pointed a finger at his forehead, pressing the claw into his skin.
"And then, we are going to end... everyone."
Suddenly, Ian began seizing, falling to the ground as everything went black.
XXX
Rever Bay
Ian suddenly woke up with a deep gasp for breath, his eyes shooting open to reveal clear cloudy afternoon skies. The crazed boy found himself laying on an incline covered in glass, a silent road at the top of the hill where no car passed and none where in sight, and Rever Bay just half a mile away. Ian immediately shot to his feet and turned when he smelt smoke.
On horizon was the North Cross Research Facilty. "Was" being the operative word. In its place was a massive wreckage of what was once the facility, now smoldering and covered in soot and ash. It was like a bomb went off and brought the whole place down.
Ian stared at the remains of the facility, before he was drawn to Rever Bay, seeing things yet to come and like a veil was growing over his brain. There was a bulge in his pocket, causing him to reach in and pull it out. The object was his phone; the cracked screen protector was replaced with a fresh one, the battery was at 100%, and the signal which meant he could use it to make a call.
Suddenly, its like he could see where his family was; His father was in his general's uniform and pacing around the room, his mother was on the couch and looking like she was almost catatonic, and his sister was next to their mother and crying her eyes out. He knew why they were crying, and knew the solution.
Knowing what he has to do, Ian unlocked his phone and speedialed his father's cell.
"Look, we don't know what happened! He could be okay! He might be-" His father tried to comfort his family, only to be cut off when his phone rang. With an aggravated sigh, he pulled his phone out, only to pause as his eyes went wide when he saw the caller ID. Desperately hoping that this wasn't some sick prank, Frank pressed accepted the call and put it on loudspeaker.
"Ian?"
His voice came through Ian's ear and stirred both his mother and sister out of their funk as they stared in shock. Ian smiled slightly and said, "Hey, dad."
Before his father could respond, his mother grabbed the phone and practically screamed into it, "IAN, WHERE ARE YOU?! WE'VE BEEN SO WORRIED AND SCARED! TELL US WHERE YOU ARE SO-"
"Jane! JANE!" His father yelled at his wife while grasping her shoulders, calming her down and handing him back the phone, "It's okay. He's okay." The mother nodded with a teary smile, her daughter almost having the same expression, before his father talked again, "She's right though, Ian. Tell me where you are and I can come get you."
Ian's small smile faded. It was now that he understood the words of the Ambassador, as he then said, "I'm in Rever Bay, but... Dad, I can't. They... They gave me some of those shots. It's how I'm still lucid right now. But... it's been days since my last shot. I... I can feel my head going..."
His father looked worried as did his mother and sister, before the former tried to reassure him, "T-That's okay, Ian. I can get some men to get you and we can get you more shots."
"Dad..." Ian looked like he was about to cry.
His eyes widened as he realized what his son was saying, the facade he built as a man of the military breaking to reveal the father behind. His mother and his sister also caught on to what he meant, the latter looking like she was about to collapse while the former put her hands to her mouth in shock, tears threatening to spill. His father then spoke in a soft but desperate tone, "No, don't... Don't say it..."
Tears pricked out of Ian's eyes as he gave his words to his family, "I'm not coming back..." He looked to Rever Bay and saw the Chaos developing around it, deciding that he couldn't leave. Not that he was this deep in.
"Ian, don't do this." His father begged his son, "We can help you! We can get you more of those shots! We can help you!"
"Please, Ian!" Amy begged him over the phone, "WE CAN HELP YOU!"
However, their cries fell on deaf ears as the madness was beginning to crawl its way in, scratching at the back of his head and slowly slithering in. He didn't have much time left, so he had to do this fast, "Mom... Dad... Amy... Never stop fighting. No matter what happens next... I'll always be by your sides. ...Goodbye."
With his last ounces of regret leaving him, Ian slowly lowered the phone from his ear and pressed the End Call button with great hesitance. And with that done, Ian found that he was now in Rever Bay, having come here as he was on the phone. Knowing what happens next, Ian turned to an abandoned building in the town, hoping to get there before Mr. Irons does.
Suddenly, he noticed something in a pool instead of his reflection; It resembled a Jester but with a hood instead of a jester's hat, an open collar with a black and yellow checkered pattern, a wolf's hide over the right shoulder, wearing a black garment that resembled both a straight-jacket and a trench coat, a red scarf wrapped around his neck with a long black sash that had dozens of red glowing rune script draped over his shoulders, black boots with belts that reached the knees, black pants, and black gloves. All clothing was organic and pulsed like flesh, moving in sync with his body rather than just sitting on it.
Ian blinked, and suddenly, his reflection had returned and was as sirene and calm as a mirror.
Blinking again, Ian shook it off and entered the building, walking through the stale room and dirty floors before stopping at the entrance to a staircase. He then picked up a sharpened piece of metal and used it to carve a message into the wall.
GO UPSTAIRS, IRONS was written with a diagonal arrow pointing upwards. Ian then paused and then etched below it a message that read: TRUST ME.
After that, Ian ascended the stairs, not bothering to take in the scenery around him. Soon, he came to the rooftop, overlooking Rever Bay while the sky blazed with a majestic orange while the sun slowly began to set, the yellow fog coming in soon enough. Very soon, the war would come and consume the town he grew up in, letting it burn away and fade like ashes in the wind.
The crazed man merely let a few tears fall and left to the building, waiting for his teacher to return.
XXX
Two months later...
Boston
Halls' Residence
Frank returned to his house later that night, wearing only a slightly undone dress shirt that lightly revealed his wife beater, demin jeans, brown shoes, and a half empty bottle in his hand. It had been two months ever since the incident at Rever Bay, which caused him and his family to move to Boston to escape the incident while whatever was left of Rever Bay was under quarentine by the military.
Someone tipped off the FBI about the experiments going on in North Cross, causing all kinds of stress and exhaustion from Frank and causing him to relapse into drinking to cope with it. Jane practically shut down after hearing the last of her son, causing her to practically become a shut in. Amy refused to go to school after hearing her brother's last words, but she agreed to go out to school soon, so that was something at least.
Vaguely, he heard it over the TV that was on while Jane and Amy were sitting on the couch, both in their nightwear. Jane looked over to Frank, and blanky scooted over to let him sit down next to her. Frank nodded slowly and closed the door, locking it and sitting down next to his wife and daughter. The news was in fact reporting on the incident on Rever Bay. Frank couldn't tell who was talking on the station, but they seemed earnest and heartfelt about the incident.
"It has been two months since the horrible incident at Rever Bay. Last December, the National Guard was called in to deal with the riots and slaughter that had engulfed the small town for weeks on end, resulting in the deaths and arrests of nearly the entire population of the small fishing town. The survivors are expected to either be sentanced to life in prison or given the death sentance for their crimes. Outcry and lawsuits against government soon followed after the unspeakable atrocities commited in the North Cross Research Facilty were exposed to the public. General Francis Halls declared that he and the other generals were not even full disclosure on the experiments occuring in North Cross, and the facility's director, Dr. Vera Hadley, has not been found. Investigations are currently-"
Frank turned the TV off with the remote, neither his wife or daughter protesting. Amy curled up against her mother, looking so close to crying but trying so hard not to while Jane just let the tears fall, even after all these months, they still mourned Ian.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, getting their attention.
An angry scowl came over Frank's face as he got up from the couch and yelled out, "We're not buying anything!" He opened the door, only to reveal that there was nobody there, just the subperban neighborhood that they moved into, which caused Frank to scream out after looking around for a second, "GAH! DAMN KIDS!"
Before he could go back inside, Frank's eyes managed to catch a letter that was sitting on the welcome mat. Curious, he picked the letter up and went back inside, closing the door behind him and locking it.
"Frank, what's that?" Jane asked when she and Amy saw the white letter in his hand, wondering who could deliver at this time of night.
"I... don't know." Frank replied as he opened the letter and slowly began to read it outloud.
"Dear, Mom, Dad, Amy, by the time you're reading this, I'm already long gone. But I wanted to make sure that you have something that's left of me when all this is over.
I gave my love, I gave my mind, and I gave my soul for everyone, not just for you, mom, and Amy. Don't be said that I'm gone, but be happy for all the happy memories you gave me, and I gave you. I wouldn't trade them for anything, especially not after what you gave up for me. You and mom gave me a gift that never stopped giving, even in the darkest parts of my life.
Sanity is not statistical. Man's stupidity just gives another reason for us to laugh. To love. If we had to stop being the chaotic and unpredictable people that we are, we would not be us, we would be something not human. We will never reach the Garden of Eden again, but that's okay, because with it lost, we have grown and become better than what we were so long ago.
And Amy, the days at school I spent with you best days of my life. All the punches I took for you, all the humiliation I endured for you, all the laughs that I took in your place, it was worth it to see you smile all these years. I know you're sad that I'm gone, but be glad I was there for you when you needed me.
Mourn me all you want, but don't let it consume you. It has to help you learn to live, not weight you down to where you can't move on. Whatever happens next, I promise I'll always keep you in my heart, not matter what may come or what may happen to me.
With love always, Ian."
Frank's breath became ragged as tears came into his eyes, Jane didn't bother holding back her tears and cried into her husband's shoulder, Amy put her hands over her mouth and started sobbing. After while of letting out her grief, she whispered, "I love you, Ian."
And it was then that she noticed one more message:
"PS. I love you too."
A chuckle escaped her, before she looked to her parents and said, "Dad, I'm going to bed."
Her mother sobbed and wiped a tear from her eye before she said, "Go ahead, sweetie."
Amy only nodded and got up from the couch, walking to her room and plopping down on her bed. The girl was about to go to bed before she looked at her palm.
It was covered in golden circuit-like markings that all connected to the center of her hand with a mark that resembled an eye with a slitted pupil.
XXX
Alagadda
A quill entered a small bottle of ink and dipped it a few times before the Oracle slowly began to write on a vast roll of parchment, inscribing the Dark Tongue of the Gods onto the paper. This was more of a request from the Marquis of Locusts, wanting to know the tales of those who fell to the Embrace of the Clans and the Dark Gods.
A mirror showed the Oracle as he was now, his former identity of Ian Halls being erased from his mind and replaced by the name he has now. His entire body was covered in bandages with eye-like markings, the rest covered in black and yellow chitinous rags and tattered robes, his face covered by a white porcelain mask that was featureless save for twin eye holes and black crack-like markings. Chains were wrapped around his chest and wrists, rolls of parchment lined with the Hanged King's scripture draped over his shoulders like a sash, a belt of lizard skin around his waist, his bandaged feet covered by soft leather scandals.
Shaking his head, the Oracle merely had the voices in his head drown out those thoughts before he continued to pen his work onto the awaiting parchment. The Ambassador of Alagadda had been gracious enough to give him a comfortable position in Alagadda's courts, albeit as one of the many scribes that would be forced to transcribe the words of the Hanged King into spells and weaves for his armies, which was rather easy when the King constantly mumbled dark words but that usually felt to other scribes, only coming to him when they needed his wisdom.
But when he wasn't, the Oracle merely wrote stories based on his various visions, bequiffing them to the Masked Lords for their entertainment. Yet, he was not ashamed to admit that he was often taking inspiration from the various tales that the Wansmen told him and mixing it with his discombobulated mind to create his tales for the Masked Lords. To him, anything could make a great story.
During his time in the courts, the Oracle saw that the Countess, formerly known as Vera Hadley, had joined the decadence of the courts, losing herself to the city and just becoming one of the King's pawns instead of using that madness to create something beautiful out of it. He admits that he was dissatisfied that such a brilliant mind would choose a life of indulgence rather than use that brilliance to create art from the madness. Such a waste.
Regardless of his feelings, the Oracle had to pen his work to the Ambassador.
As he finished his work however, a sharp pain came to his head, letting a hand grasp it. More visions came, ones of things yet to come.
XXX
The Shepard of the Damned raised his staff as it raises more power energy shield around his baneblade as everyone fired their weapons even the Waverider blasting the shield with all they got. Oliver draws his nuke arrow before quickly release. Darhk sense the danger and smiled as he raises the wrap shield, shielding himself from the attacks of firestorm. The Atom and the Waverider's blaster cannons, Firestorm let a puff of atomic flames and Atom shot beams of lethal power into the shield in a desperate bid to shatter it. Gritting his teeth, Darhk used all his will power and magic into his staff as he struggling to hold back against the barrage as the shield was close to being weakened.
"Cannon charged, sir!" The pilot of the tank yelled out to the Shepard.
"Fire!" the Shepard of the Damned roared at the second the announcement passed.
The defenders and all the heroes' eye's wide opened in horror as a purple and white beam of pure Warp energy burst out of the Baneblade.
"Incoming!" Diggle shouted as he got the hell out of dodge along with the others, "Get off the wall!"
The Flash, Kid Flash and Jessica immediately plucked everyone included the teams off the platform and the rest of the walls as fast as they can as the beam slammed directly into the wall surrounding Central City. It burst into an explosion of blackness that annihilated the outer walls and the energy shield covering the whole city, exposing them to the air of the world ending.
XXX
"Behold!" A female voice rang as the cloaked figure raised their arms, revealing darkened and wrinkled flesh polymerized with cybernetics, "Behold as I am woven into the tapestry of reality! Behold as I become undying and indestructible! Behold as the blood of gods and tyrants drown this world in its splendor! Behold as my first steps towards my destiny begins!"
The circle of ritual symbols, machinery, and arcane device whirled to live as the desires of its master fulfilled their purpose. The speaker began to laugh, feeling the power swelling inside her, blazing as it roared into the cosmos.
"HERE IS MY REWARD! HERE IS LIFE EVERLASTING!"
XXX
"So, you finally did make it." A calming voice overflowing with compassion chuckled gently at the man, "I've been waiting for you, you throne-bound, angry, incre-he-hedably hypocritical man." The voice chuckled again before finishing, the smile audible in his words, "I'm going to feel right at home."
XXX
"BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE HOLLOW KNIGHT!"
The rift seized and warped until a blinding white light came through, causing all those present to cover their eyes as to not be blinded by its opulence. When it faded to bearable levels, they lowered whatever they used to cover their sight before they gawked at the sight of the thing before them.
It was impossibly elongated and thin, a dread polymerization of scales, segments, spikes, and claws, twin segmented tails ending in needle-like stingers, jagged diaphanous wings, twin sets of arms, and the head a skull-like helm with twin black voids as eyes and twin forward facing horns akin to Doomrider's. In its hands was the Nightmare Blade, a sword composed of radiant white crystal with the guard being the Star of Chaos with each point ending in dagger-like fangs, slick and thirsting for flesh and the pommel being the screaming face of a dragon.
XXX
"WHO ARE YOU?!" A voice of a million nightmares given form and life echoed through a place of ever-consuming blackness made material as something so black that light could never shine upon it stood in unrelenting fury.
A man with red hair and eyes, a full beard and mustache stood up clad in a red dress shirt and black buttoned up vest under a red leather trenchcoat with the imperial Aquila printed on the back, black slacks with knee length red leather boots with numerous belt straps. In his arms was a golden spear of unparalleled opulence. Its blade shaped like an elongated tear with a hollow in the centre to represent the single drop of blood Sanguinius shed when he swore fealty to the Emperor. The shaft sculpted to show the Primarch as a hooded angel of blood, and beneath that is a Purity Seal with an oath allegedly hand-written by the Emperor Himself.
"I am Elitras, Acolyte of the Emperor, Inheritor of Sanguinius' will." Elitras spoke with no fear in his voice, brandishing the spear at the shadows which recoiled at the radiance of the weapon's power, "And today is the day you die, Corvus Corax!"
XXX
The next vision then showed an image that surprised the Oracle, it showed two giants among men; one was larger, his skin black as charcoal and his eyes blazing red with determination, adorned in green armor accented with gold and with the skull of a dragon on one pauldron, wielding a massive warhammer with golden draconian engravings. The other was more horror-inducing, pale skinned with eyes and hair black as night, his armor blue with the emblem of a skull with red wings, wielding a pair of lightning claws that crackled with power as they clashed in silver halls.
They were Konrad Curze and Vulkan.
"You know I can't help but to notice," Vulkan started as he tried to break the lock they were in, "You killed me several times during Horus' rebellion, and yet here you are, struggling to do so again. Losing your edge, Night Haunter?"
The Night Haunter growled as he struggled against the Dawnbringer, "One more word out of you and I will-!"
"You'll what?!" Vulkan roared as he broke the struggle and attempted a downward strike only for Konrad's claws to block the strike again, "You'll torture me? Flay me alive like what you did to those children?!"
"I don't understand why you care!" Konrad screamed out in frustration.
"BECAUSE SOMEBODY SHOULD!" Vulkan roared back in reply as he broke the struggle and slammed Dawnbringer into Konrad's jaw at that last word, sending the Night Haunter back before he wiped the blood off his lip and growled.
"FINE! YOU WANT TO PLAY THE PART OF THE HERO, DO YOU?!" Konrad roared as he brandished his twin claws at the Dragon of Nocturne, arching with corrupted electricity as he sharpened the blades against each other, "THEN WATCH! WATCH AS HOW LITTLE EFFORT IT TAKES TO DESTROY AN IDEAL SO FOOLISH!"
XXX
The next one showed a man with black hair that reached his shoulders and a full beard, and emerald eyes, dressed in a dirty dark green under a brown jacket, dark pants and black tennis shoes. He was sitting outside of a shady bar, a near empty bottle in one hand and an odd device in the other that appeared to be a stonework clock with a blue hologram appearing from its inner parts, the figure from it being male and in a purple uniform.
"I know everything seems hopeless, Butch. But, so long as you're alive, there is hope." The figure in the hologram spoke to the man, who had an awed expression at the other's words of encouragement, "The people from the Emperor's universe have forgotten that hope is not gone. Hope is only gone when everyone else is gone. I don't know if what I'm about to do will change anything... Hell I'm not sure if it'll do anything. But you know what? I'm gonna try anyway. Because if I don't... I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try. And I hope this recording will inspire you to do the same thing."
The figure smiled at Butch and gave a thumbs up, "Don't stop fighting, Butch. Never stop fighting!"
The hologram disappeared, leaving Butch standing there in the back of the bar staring at the device. A tear fell from one eye before he closed both and let them fall down his cheeks, clenching the stonework clock as his head dipped. After a minute, he wiped the tears off his face and stood up, gaining a determined expression as he opened his eyes, revealing that they were now blazing with emerald energy.
"Let's go."
XXX
"CLARK, DON'T!"
The Man of Tomorrow stopped, fist still raised against the perpetrator, turning to see an old man staring before him. He had short white hair with a beard and mustache, glasses hiding wise grey eyes, wearing a tieless dress shirt under a navy-blue dress coat, brown dress pants and polished dress shoes.
The UN representatives all looked at the old man in shock and confusion, wondering where he came from before their shock grew when he approached the Man of Steel with little fear in his eyes and heart. Superman let go of the one who caused this horrific event, walking to the old man with an enraged expression, his eyes red but the priest did not yield.
"You blame yourself for what happened. For the invasion last year, for the battle that nearly ended the league." The priest began, trying to reason with the Man of Steel, "For this event. Yes, you're angry. But in that anger, you're forgetting once more what humans feel. What they fear."
Clark looked like he was ready to tear the old man before he slowly started to realize what he was doing, looking at the scared world leaders and then staring at the Emperor, who had remained stone-faced during this whole time.
"They won't forgive you for this, Clark. Forgive yourself." The priest begged the Man of Steel.
Superman turned to the Emperor, who still remained stoic albeit breathing rather heavily as the blood running down his face dried, before he then turned back to the old man, "Who are... Why are you here?"
"To bear witness." The priest vaguely spoke, "Listen to me, Clark. Of all the things you can do, all your powers, the greatest has always been your instinctive knowledge of right and wrong. It was a gift of your own humanity. You never had to question your actions; in any situation, in any crisis, you knew what to do. But the moment you made the Super more than the Man, the day the Emperor became your new Lex Luthor, that completely cost you your instinct. That took away your judgement."
Clark's rage slowly began to petter out as he looked down in shame. The Emperor still remained stoic even as the world leaders emerged from their hiding spots to see what was going on.
"Take your judgement back." The priest replied to the unspoken question, "If you want redemption, Clark, it lies in the very next decision you make. Make it as a man... and make it right."
Somewhat moved by the old man's words, the Emperor put a hand to Clark's shoulder, speaking gently like he was comforting a guilt-ridden soldier, "Clark... We didn't have a choice."
Superman didn't even glare at him, only hanging his head. The Emperor turned his gaze to the old man, who had an expression of sadness on his face, which cause a bitter one to replace the former's current expression.
XXX
'I. AM. THE. NEW. GOD.
ALL IS ONE IN I. THIS MIGHTY BODY IS MY CHURCH.
WHEN I COMMAND YOUR SURRENDER, I SPEAK WITH TEN BILLION VOICES...
WHEN I MAKE A FIST TO CRUSH YOUR RESISTANCE. IT IS WITH TEN BILLION HANDS!
WHEN I STARE INTO YOUR EYES AND SHATTER YOUR DREAMS. AND BREAK YOUR HEART. IT IS WITH TWENTY BILLION EYES!
NOTHING LIKE I HAS EVER COME AMONG YOU: NOTHING WILL AGAIN.
I WILL TAKE YOU TO A HELL WITHOUT EXIT OR END.
AND THERE I WILL MURDER YOUR SOULS!
AND MAKE YOU CRAWL AND BEG!
AND DIE!
DIE! DIE FOR DARKSEID!'
XXX
The Oracle flinched as the visions ended, putting a hand to his forehead for the pain to subside. Once it did, he found himself inspired, taking another roll of parchment and dipping his quill pen into the ink bottle before beginning to write down his new stories, hoping to pen these to the Masked Lords for their approval, maybe even the approval of the Ambassador.
Such vivid visions of things yet to come.
Oh, such wonderful stories they would make.
101,744 words.
I think I just set the record for the largest chapter in fanfiction history. I promise that future chapters aren't gonna be this long.
Jesus, I did not expect this chapter to be this big, I mean I expected this to be at least 50,000 words, not a 100,000! Regardless, here's the newest chapter!
For those that are wondering why I made this chapter, I was watching the 2017 Power Rangers movie and thought to myself, 'What if I could turn this into a tale about teenagers turning to Chaos?'
And so, this came about, my third anthology chapter that shows a number of kids and a whole town falling to Chaos. Thankfully, the military intervened before the threat could spread to other towns or the entire country, but there are still several questions that have yet to be answered.
What happened to Mark, Matt, Debra, and her brothers after the army arrested them? What happened to Bob after his fight with the Renegade God's forces? What happened to Mitchell after Irons' attack? And what was with Ian's visions?
You'll find out as the story continues!
As for the cast: Mark is voiced by Johnny Young Bosch, Matt is voiced by Troy Baker, Rachel is voiced by Laura Bailey, Bob is voiced by James Masters, Debra is voiced by Karen Strassman, and Ian is voiced by Crispin Freeman. And for those that are thinking of Jonathan Irons from COD: Advanced Warfare; Yes, Benjamin Irons is voiced by Kevin Spacey.
The story and poem of the Hanged King is from SunnyClockWork, with a little modifications for obvious reasons. That and Ian's Possessed Form is Jester, Tale of the Shattered King by Y-mir. I couldn't help but to take inspiration from it.
Anyway, if you guys want something to read while I write each chapter, check out Reeleffendeel's My Hero Acadamia: Unchained Predator, who I am proud to say as of writing this holds the most popular DOOM Crossover on this site! Hat's off to you, Reel!
Also, feel free to make a reaction fic or a TV Tropes page.
See ya!