07-15-2016, 11:31 PM
Dust drifted from the roof of the cavern, powdered stone falling across stalagmites as the trio made their way towards the Elevator, its forgotten mechanisms still standing ready to carry them into darkness. It took but a few moments for them to reach it, standing around its corrugated steel, awaiting a consensus. For the briefest of instants, there was silence, the void of sound filled by nothing more than the soundless shifting of tectonic plates and the drip of water against rock.
Corruption-ridden claws clutched the rusted railing, the cyclopean crimson eye of Okor looking out over his companions. ”We have two… choices.”
He gestured with his tainted talons, the dessicated digits dripping with liquid rot as he raised the hand towards the far-off sky, their paleolithic prison holding them back from the other survivors.
”We could ascend, and find Hiro. I’d expect us to encounter more of these… Savages, although Gods alone know how that would end after our earlier encounter. Perhaps they would seek vengeance, mayhaps they would fear us, or they might know naught but hunger. We’d be moving overground in plain sight, in unfamiliar ground. Nothing we couldn’t handle, naturally, but… still a tactical consideration. An Ambush is nigh-guaranteed.”
Rotten fingers raked across his helm, a parody of stroking his chin, a mockery of nature being the closest thing to humanity the Chosen of the Dark Gods could muster in this moment of darkness.
”They are tribespeople. Hunters, first and foremost. They would strike fast, isolate Fiara, end her, and fade into the forest. We would have to move in… close order.”
His decrepit grey matter slowly churned, calling upon an unnaturally prolonged lifespan filled with more warfare than any one man should ever be subjected to. Screaming slave-soldiers, their blood filled with Frenzon crested a ridge, crude blades digging into Astartes Ceramite, powered by drug-fuelled bloodlust. Nearly ten millennia ago, Death came to Galaspar, and broke one tyrant’s hold, while putting another upon its throne.
The Kajor Compliance still came to him, in his dreams. A world of barbarians, armed with stone and flint, facing Mankind’s greatest creations, without fear. The pacts they sealed with the Dark Gods ensured that, beings of smoke and flame tearing apart his brothers, their cackling drowning out the screams, the howls of agony that-
He shook his head, attempting to drive off the nightmares of the past. The Gods lent him their strength now, not to the foe.
”We haven’t seen any… sorcery used, but it wouldn’t be... unwise to expect it.”
Gears ground as the Machine known as Marcus opened their mouth to speak. “Was their much magic where you came from, Okor?”
”You could… say that,” chuckled the Chosen. ”The Gods dwell in the Sea of Souls, and grant power to those born with the talent of Theurgy. An infinite wellspring of strength, but woe betide those who... drink too deep.” At this point, he halted, a seizure wracking his corpse as his lungs rebelled, attempting to drive out the host of parasites dwelling within.
”But there’s always, a choice, isn’t there?”
“Whatever did this still lurks… beneath us. Marcus, did these cultists speak of a goal?”
The Terminator rolled his shoulders, the pistons beneath his false flesh sparking, a memento of the damage suffered in the battle against the feral cannibals. “They spoke of joining into an… Ascension, of some kind. Do you have any idea what they meant by that?”
Beneath the antique iron of his helm, paper-thin skin split into a maddened grin, his entropic extremities cracking as he stretched them out. ”The entity that corrupted them must lack a physical form in this realm. At first, it lurked in the… Omnillium. An object of desire, calling to the greedy and vulnerable. It used them to thin the herd, and ensure it had only the strongest for its host. Couple that with the joining....”
He leaned forward, the exuberance exuding from him as palpable as the stench that constantly surrounded him.
”I predict a hulking amalgamation of raw potential and human flesh, guided by an ancient and alien intelligence.”
“And I want its skull.”
Corruption-ridden claws clutched the rusted railing, the cyclopean crimson eye of Okor looking out over his companions. ”We have two… choices.”
He gestured with his tainted talons, the dessicated digits dripping with liquid rot as he raised the hand towards the far-off sky, their paleolithic prison holding them back from the other survivors.
”We could ascend, and find Hiro. I’d expect us to encounter more of these… Savages, although Gods alone know how that would end after our earlier encounter. Perhaps they would seek vengeance, mayhaps they would fear us, or they might know naught but hunger. We’d be moving overground in plain sight, in unfamiliar ground. Nothing we couldn’t handle, naturally, but… still a tactical consideration. An Ambush is nigh-guaranteed.”
Rotten fingers raked across his helm, a parody of stroking his chin, a mockery of nature being the closest thing to humanity the Chosen of the Dark Gods could muster in this moment of darkness.
”They are tribespeople. Hunters, first and foremost. They would strike fast, isolate Fiara, end her, and fade into the forest. We would have to move in… close order.”
His decrepit grey matter slowly churned, calling upon an unnaturally prolonged lifespan filled with more warfare than any one man should ever be subjected to. Screaming slave-soldiers, their blood filled with Frenzon crested a ridge, crude blades digging into Astartes Ceramite, powered by drug-fuelled bloodlust. Nearly ten millennia ago, Death came to Galaspar, and broke one tyrant’s hold, while putting another upon its throne.
The Kajor Compliance still came to him, in his dreams. A world of barbarians, armed with stone and flint, facing Mankind’s greatest creations, without fear. The pacts they sealed with the Dark Gods ensured that, beings of smoke and flame tearing apart his brothers, their cackling drowning out the screams, the howls of agony that-
He shook his head, attempting to drive off the nightmares of the past. The Gods lent him their strength now, not to the foe.
”We haven’t seen any… sorcery used, but it wouldn’t be... unwise to expect it.”
Gears ground as the Machine known as Marcus opened their mouth to speak. “Was their much magic where you came from, Okor?”
”You could… say that,” chuckled the Chosen. ”The Gods dwell in the Sea of Souls, and grant power to those born with the talent of Theurgy. An infinite wellspring of strength, but woe betide those who... drink too deep.” At this point, he halted, a seizure wracking his corpse as his lungs rebelled, attempting to drive out the host of parasites dwelling within.
”But there’s always, a choice, isn’t there?”
“Whatever did this still lurks… beneath us. Marcus, did these cultists speak of a goal?”
The Terminator rolled his shoulders, the pistons beneath his false flesh sparking, a memento of the damage suffered in the battle against the feral cannibals. “They spoke of joining into an… Ascension, of some kind. Do you have any idea what they meant by that?”
Beneath the antique iron of his helm, paper-thin skin split into a maddened grin, his entropic extremities cracking as he stretched them out. ”The entity that corrupted them must lack a physical form in this realm. At first, it lurked in the… Omnillium. An object of desire, calling to the greedy and vulnerable. It used them to thin the herd, and ensure it had only the strongest for its host. Couple that with the joining....”
He leaned forward, the exuberance exuding from him as palpable as the stench that constantly surrounded him.
”I predict a hulking amalgamation of raw potential and human flesh, guided by an ancient and alien intelligence.”
“And I want its skull.”
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