G R U G
Member
Vision breaking apart into a crystalline pattern as the gas began to envelop her, the ice cold sensation of their own ribs slowly piercing whatever remained of her chest. The final thing she saw were her few remaining fingers barely hanging on by strained tendons before her scalp melted past her eyes. Reaching out, she tried to feel a path across those steel halls numb to the touch, another voice calling out. Shambling over to the source, trying to embrace it only to fall through, enveloped by a warmth that seeped in, drowning her from the inside.
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Light bore the membrane as a figure rose, dripping with the afterbirth of their transformation. They stalked the halls for some time, gathering their bearings while blackened eyes fastened about the ceiling followed every step. Grime and pus now slathered the walls and floor, coagulating in the crevices that began to show its ruin. There were survivors, though death would have been a better fate for them. Some would crawl away whimpering, bloated tongues perpetually choking on their last words; while others lashed out in a frenzy. None dared to make contact though. It was only when one abomination, still stuck in its own remains, was pulled free by the figure that the others reared their heads out in a childlike awe.
Directed by those dithering signs, now with a small horde shambling after, the figure stumbled upon a wall-like indent that was locked shut, another blackened eye glaring from above. Something hidden. Something protected. They traced a finger by the labyrinthine complex, trying to find a faulty panel to rip out, any weakness in the architecture. It all felt so familiar.
View attachment 35522A room full of hairless apes, gnawing on their cigarettes while working over a blue sheet sprawling with lines and measurements, a newfound scripture dictating the workings of mans sepulchre.
A clang echoed and shook, the figure rushing over to investigate it. Some serpentine hatchling had managed to pry off a grille, barely squeezing through the hole it left and disappearing into the dark yawning. Several more hits would occasionally be heard, then a silence that stretched on for minutes; before a distant churning traveled, followed by screams that were quickly choked out. Retracing their steps, untouched inhabitants were seen crawling away from the now open indent, donned in white cloaks as they began to sink into their own pooling flesh. There was no saving them, the figure shambling by and into the pristine room now filled with that stagnant gas. A corpse lay by a downed chair, neck torn open with the serpentine abomination gnawing on some apparatus clamped to the deceased's arm. The figure brushed the hatchling aside, reaching down and commandeering the device, donning it themselves. A practiced motion.
Throwing on a white jacket and an ebony pillbox hat, one last kiss is had before she straps a plastic lump to her wrist and steps out into their lawn, moving over to a Corvega Blitz that glistened with a scarlet paintjob.
Now back outside of the room, once again stepping over the festering pools of flesh and striding through the corridors with purpose, eventually finding themselves at a towering circular gate with a cog shaped design to it. The figure moves over to a console, removing the adapter plug from their device and connecting it, pressing down on that withered button before alarms rang out. The other abominations cowered in fear while the figure stood against the grinding gate, opening up to an ethereal light that blinded them all, a voice in the crowd speaking up, chanting with a zealous fervor.
Gaizka!
Gaizka!
Gaizka!
They traversed those empty ruins and ashen wastes in a blind pilgrimage. Acclimating to their husks, Gaizka the only one to have kept a mobile form. Bones and skin meddled into a towering exoskeleton, plates shifting against one another, deriding man in its design. The tribe's path was uncertain, lives gone at a whim. Slumping over as their malformed bodies finally gave in, offering their blood in battle against beasts that lurk past natures design. Every life lost was buried or shied away from the world by Gaizka's hands. Gaizka. Few had retained their speech, and even if garbled or strained, that title began to engrain itself each time it was spoken.
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A patrol could be seen past the horizon, clad in uniforms that entailed civility amongst themselves. Gaizka ushered the horrors down, crouching amongst rusted cars and concrete barriers. The figure crept forward, until they rose and revealed themselves to the strangers. Two voices split between that enclosed mouth for a moment before a shot rang out. The tribe sprung from their cover, a cacophony shaking the soldiers -- frantic firing raining down over the horde before the gunners were set upon, bloodied and torn in only a moment. Gaizka stood silent, hands grasping the air above their bullet ridden plating.
Wounds shrieking against the snow, breath barely making it out of that iron maiden. Phantoms. From all sides. The best soldiers we had to offer, cut down by the air around them.
Violence remained as the ultimate form of ruling. No matter what suzerain was propped up against that charred throne, the dagger kept hold in its back. Days of wandering, searching for life and purpose -- now reduced to skittering low by the rubble in search of shelter. Nearly every trace of civilization raised its barrels high towards the horde, only the few backwater slums that were too desolate to fight back allowing their presence. With the gloom of an end to their journey hanging low, there were only about seven of their tribe left, a number too small to fight against what came after them.
The windows shuddered as if hit with pistons. Roaring machinery with repeating chopping sounds beneath. It hovered outside the building they had taken refuge in, before a loud bang could be heard, shattering the asphalt surrounding it. A faint whirring echoed, breaking against the ground with each stomp, footsteps sticking close. The tribe dared not move until Gaizka spotted one of their members, a serpentine mutant, slowly crawling towards them from the rubble it had been searching. Scrambling out from cover, a voice snarled out orders, commanding red fire that dug into Gaizka and their environment. They managed to grasp them and dive behind the rubble, as to divert attention from the rest of their tribe. Wounds sizzling, a tear escaped Gaizka as they lowered the mutant, grabbing a large rock instead and hurdling themselves towards the force. Their biological plating stood fast, maddened swings managing to crack open the ones unlucky to have charged forward. It wasn't enough. Gaizka was slowly brought down to their knees, the adrenaline unable to keep them standing anymore. Their eyes shut in acceptance, hushed prayers interrupted by the roar of gunfire filling the room.
Covered in blood and steel, he lay there as the cold enveloped him, too weak to even move. The last thing he remembered was the march of reinforcements, a hand reaching out and pulling him away.
It continued till the remains of their ears rang, yet they kept huddled long after it stopped. Slowly rising, they opened their eyes to weapons now trained on them, though none fired. Standing amongst the gore of a small platoon were giants, a wide range of sickly green, muscles barely contained by their skin, almost tall enough to rival Gaizka if it weren't for their permanent hunch. First the figure hesitated, but soon their voices spoke out the crowd. Bracing themselves for a volley of gunfire, they were instead met with a brutish voice. Greetings and questions were exchanged, weapons lowered in an almost innocent intrigue. The giants told of their roots in "Washington", how their forces were driven by some clandestine matter known as "F.E.V", a hunt for more being their only goal. Yet they had fallen to ruin, crushed by powers all throughout the wasteland that carried the sole intention of annihilating them.
Though they spoke with the cadence of confusing drabble, and most seemed to be bloodthirsty with their sloshing of entrails, it was not beyond that of man's cruelty. Shreds of their past still lingered, coming through by Gaizka's words. For what reason would mutants harm one another? To Gaizka, they were all victims of a world that couldn't stand the beings it held. So the figure spoke of their tribe's plans, to find life and purpose -- something more than hiding in fear of what lay beyond the ruins. And after their winding conversation, the two crowds decided to band together, setting out into the world as one.
A small force against the wasteland had formed. And with the strength of the giants fueled by the guidance of Gaizka, they would begin to thrive. It wasn't long until they encountered other mutants, groups that were barely managing to survive, littered all throughout the ruins of an long gone world. They were quick to join their cause, the horde bolstering into an army. Months of traveling, battles fought, ground gained; a new order was building. One that didn't shy away from the abominations that were forced to stay in hiding or be met with death. One capable of fighting back. This was no longer and extermination. This was war. And at the helm of their cause stood no longer a figure, but a leader.
GAIZKA, OF THE LOST
DISCORD: g_r_u_g
TIMEZONE: CET
APPLYING FOR: Ovelord
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