Hidden 16 days ago Post by LustForDecay
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LustForDecay Death Metal Maniac From 2010 Or Something

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There was nothing for an awkward few moments but the sound of grinding gears and ripping dirt. The enormous walker had taken a comically large stumble down the slopes after having had multiple weapon and movement options crippled. None of the damage was inflicted was to core systems and as much as it had smashed and rolled its way down the hill, but it had probably done far more damage to the stones and the trees that had dotted the ascent. They would have heard bark and stone shattering alike between the groaning and screeching of tormented metal and they did, breaking the silence of the whirring rumble of a distant battle falling away into the distance.

The Envenomed heard all of the carnage layered beneath a sound that filtered into the air like the creeping ring of tinnitus. No sooner than Salvator had made his call had it began to appear, easily mistakable for residual electronics interference or the return of clear communications. At first it was only from their coms, near smothered by the sounds of the horrible machine they had felled no doubt rising to its chunky legs, stripped of wheels and pilot no doubt pride, but it grew too loud and insistent to be incidental. Where there was once just silence from command soon there was its pulsing hum, soothing the pastiche of shattered bodies and scenery they awaited.

Light fluctuated, blinked, not with the passage of absent clouds upon a clear sky but curving trails of yellow beams bent into shapes expected of glass sculptures that might filter them. Beams that once would peak through the foliage landed a few feet off and visually trailing them upward saw them curve and splinter around and against unseen turns and forks. There was a shape implied, one that covered much of the area of operation they had previously battled in even if it cast no shadow amongst the wreckage of being and machine. It was an aberration and it neared, the tops of trees and their leaves leaning away from it as if pushed by unseen barriers, scans of which soon were revealed to be sustained antigravitational force.

Closer now; shape manifested to augmented sight whether by HUD's, specialized biology, or internal computer systems if not combinations of such. A vessel of sort clad in the appearance of reality itself; see-through, invisible, the world as it appeared stretched over it like a stolen skin for a shape censored for the sensibilities of the squeamish. It was a long vessel not long as a typical jet or plane like aerial transport would be like, its body was enormous in its dimensions turning the space above them into a realm of distorted texture and bending sky. Segments lined its body, a long and predatory shape, large enough to fit at least a handful of tanks. Heat-like distortion near its end suggested the shape of tails and where realspace bent around sufficiently revealed the implied presence of a cockpit head - the entire thing was akin to some enormous predator lurking beneath the mundaneness of the sky, now hovering above them.

The visual consistency of distorted vision was broken when black lines manifested across the false sky in their sight. Where was once the calm blue above split open and the body of the beast was revealed; a rectangular entrance blacker than the afternoon of the day that stared back at them with the intensity of its murk. Shapes were visible within; long appendages of irregular jagged joints that twisted themselves into strained patterns, all receding as the doors spread, retreating from what light was outside. The faint red of visored, goggle-like eyes - infantry, Intransigent, species unknown and specific loadouts difficult to perceive. A growing purplish glow emerged from the ceiling as dirt, rock, rubble, and leaves began to float and bump amongst themselves in a wide radius beneath - wide enough they could have taken likely two warforms in there.

"Low-gravitational well established. Board then depart."

The voice spoke as easily as one completing a purchase for an order, unfazed by the shapes moving through the foliage in the distance. Shapes bearing the same red eyes as the ones in the vessel, hidden behind cloaks over armored bodies - Intransigent forces, some enormous arthropod-like things of claw-hand appendages thicker than human bodies and torsos like inverted triangles broken off into almsot disjointed, incongruent segments some holding weapons that were autocannons rather than rifles in spite of their fitting size. Others were clad in armour seemingly made from night itself, not flat colours of endless dark but criss-crossing complexities of hard padding, magazines, and reinforced collar protection. Weapons ponly spoken of in the tall tales of veteran insurgents and security forces, those who had survived strange incursions they were told never happened, aimed towards the slope where the enormous walker no doubt had returned to its feet.

"Do not remain nor interfere with the rest. This is where your mission ends."

Vrexul, definitely vrexul, each of them a foot taller at least than the endoform band bearing weapons grotesque in their combination of innumerable, independently moving parts and savage in how it had been molded into jagged, pointed forms took up a perimeter position. It was deliberate that they moved past the Envnomed, not so much as even turning one of their living symbiote-limbs to peer or point at them. The entire group of reinforcements did not appear to even notice or acknowledge them, only the slow and rhythmic thud of the slowly approaching armored thread.

As the Envenomed ascended the gravitational column, flashes of light and missile trails streaked underneath. Projectiles that would have struck the ship detonated harmlessly beneath, vanishing their allies beneath the angry glare of explosions. A sound like a hammer, pounding in the depths of a mythical place of post-mortem soul punishment, responded in turn to the roar of mecha weaponry. It dimmed and dimmed as the vessel's body closed and Zanovia became another memory in a legacy of quiet shame and unspoken deeds.






Time had turned into a standstill on the biomechanical vessel. The carnage that once surrounded them and which was visible just a turn of the head past a cliffside was gone and in its place the dull drone and meditative pulsing of the living cybernetics of the strange vessel they found themselves on. The lights were low but their eyes adjusted to it, the faint purple-white of ambient dome-like growths along the ceiling and walls draping their surroundings in the nocturnal glow of an imagined evening. The metal of the floors clanked yet shifted beneath their weight just so slightly, as if generously accomodating them, and in little slits and crevices in the shell-like material of the walls, shapes skittered faster than shape could be determined beyond carapaced and multi-sectioned.

Whatever sounds of battle they might have wondered about were absent. At most there was the slight rumble of the vessel as it presumably left the atmosphere... but then there was nothing but the alien mundanenity of it; long corridors that widened until rooms of hardened biofilm windows, behind which figures human and inhuman paid little attention.

It was tempting to think some of them were elite commando forces but they were not like the reinforcements from earlier. Mismatches of weaponry from across the hegemon across armore painted colours fitting for the Intransigence yet not concealing of the smoother shapes of League issue hardware, the mismatched jaggedness of the Black City's rank and file, the ballistic living padding of fungal-kevlar worn by many Yrrkradians... it was familiar in an odd sense. It was not often one might see scielto not draped in the heavenly splendor of their ethereal nobility but clad in the same bandoliers and infantry-issue shield generators as the celaderaka next to them, clutching at where once was a quarter of their skull, the rest of it silently hovering around his skull connected by lightning-beams of tenuous, faint energies green and sickly.

The infantry that had been leading them said nothing, clad in the general infantry armor of Intranszjednota bipeds, having said nothing but merely motioning for them to follow. Yet they stopped at the corridor, shaped like a gigantic spinal column ribbed and lined with matter that resembled muscle beneath where bones did not fully connect. At its end was a figure no less skeletal.



It was more human than the rest of the assortment of species they had seen yet something more than that. In spite of being a mimickry of structured bone, it was greater than what a human skeleton would have been. There was volume to its mass, not spindly and crackling but rife with vigour in its motions, the striding of its six-feet-seven-inch height as vigorous as whenever it once had flesh and organic strength. It was not a skeletal grin but a harsh grimace hidden behind the tinted visor, steeled to whether coming trouble and terror alike. Intransigent forces did not often salute but the two that had lead them paused for a moment and muttered something inaudible and likely non-verbal, almost as if verses of a song.

An affirmation in the form of a buzzing pulse emerged seemingly from the walls itself, the air, or the very space around the skeletal machine as the two soldiers left.

"Speak, freely. There is much to discuss and others to meet. The vessel has docked and you are to be briefed on what is to come. I had expected little given the constraints of time, but my decision had been correct. There is little time to rejoice. We are expected soon. Yet not so soon I cannot gleam a few things. With me."

Its voice was difficult to determine; it was not the voice it would have had when it was of flesh and blood but there was something distantly buried beneath the layered echo-speak that seemed to emerge both from its body and the very space around it. As if it was a singular being who was the vessel of an audience they could not see save for itself. It had not even introduced itself and its voice was still hurried. Attempts to scan it returned fragmented false readings from its ambient electronic warfare security measures but they were busy with an agenda of their own, too much to care for little prods like that.

All they got out of any scans was that they were designated as INVICTOID AUTHORITY NODE 04/10

Soon it lead them to a chamber, one at the very least had recognizable furniture not merely for humanoids but based on the enormous cushion-like memory-moss clump on the floor, it was meant to be comfortable for the endoform and any other sufficiently large as well (the warform had to be parked in a vehicle bay from earlier). The ceiling still resembled flattened insectoid features glazed over and laminated, the floor did not shift so much (it appeared to be solid tiles for once), and the table was... a table. A wide, circular table with chairs that bore no biomechanical perversity, even having cushions of the actually-a-cushion variety with a few neon lights above that aggressively clashed with the rest of the dead-yet-dreadful decor.

"You have questions. I have questions. Speak your mind. Then I will speak mine."
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Hidden 15 days ago 15 days ago Post by DeadDrop
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DeadDrop Evil Arc

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Gazzaro-I a long time ago...
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πš†πš‘πšŽπš— πšπšŠπšŒπš’πš—πš πšŒπšŽπš›πšπšŠπš’πš— πšπšŽπšŠπšπš‘ πš˜πš—πšŽ πšŒπš˜πš–πšŽπšœ 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 πšπš‘πšŽ 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 πšŠπš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšŠπš πšπš‘πšŠπš πšπš‘πšŽπš’'𝚟𝚎 πš’πš—πšπš•πš’πšŒπšπšŽπš πš˜πš—πšπš˜ πšπš‘πšŽ πš πš˜πš›πš•πš, πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš›πšœ, πšŠπš—πš πš–πš˜πšœπš πš’πš–πš™πš˜πš›πšπšŠπš—πšπš•πš’ πšπš‘πšŽπš–πšœπšŽπš•πšŸπšŽπšœ. π™Έπš πšŒπš˜πšžπš•πš πš‘πšŠπšŸπšŽ πš‹πšŽπšŽπš— 𝚊 πšπš•πšŠπšœπš‘ 𝚘𝚏 πš•πš’πšπš‘πš πšπš˜πš› πšœπš˜πš–πšŽ, πš˜πš› 𝚊 πš–πš˜πš›πšŽ πš™πš›πš˜πš•πš˜πš—πšπšŽπš πš›πšŽπšπš•πšŽπšŒπšπš’πš˜πš— 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽπš’πš› πšŽπš‘πš’πšœπšπšŽπš—πšŒπšŽ 𝚊𝚜 πšπš‘πšŽπš’ πšœπšπšŠπš›πšŽπš πšπš˜πš πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšŠπš›πš›πšŽπš• 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 πšπšžπš—. π™΅πš˜πš› π™Ίπš•πšŽπš˜ πš πšŠπšπšŒπš‘πš’πš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšžπš•πš”πš’πš—πš πš–πšŽπšπšŠπš• πš™πš›πšŽπš™πšŠπš›πšŽπš 𝚝𝚘 πš›πšŠπš’πš— πšπš˜πš πš— πš‘πšŠπšπšŽ πš˜πš—πšπš˜ πš‘πšŽπš› 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πšŠπš•πš• πšœπš‘πšŽ 𝚐𝚘𝚝 πš’πš— πš‘πšŽπš› πšπš’πš—πšŠπš• πš–πš˜πš–πšŽπš—πšπšœ, πš›πšŽπšŠπšπš’ 𝚝𝚘 πšŠπšŒπšŒπšŽπš™πš πšπš‘πšŠπš πšπš‘πšŽ π™΄πš–πš™πšŽπš›πš˜πš› πš‘πšŠπš πš πš˜πš— πšŠπš—πš 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 πšŠπš—πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš› 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πš˜πšπš’ πšŒπš˜πšžπš—πš 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πšŽπšŸπšŽπš›-πšπš›πš˜πš πš’πš—πš πšŠπš—πš πšπšŠπš—πšŒπš’πš—πš πšπš•πšŽπšœπš‘ πš’πš— πšπš‘πš’πšœ 𝚐𝚘𝚍-πšπš˜πš›πšœπšŠπš”πšŽπš— πš πšŠπš›πš›πš’πš˜πš› πšœπš‘πšŽ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πš›πšŽπšŠπšπš’ 𝚝𝚘 πšπš’πšŸπšŽ πšžπš™. π™Έπš— πšπš‘πšŽ πšπšŠπš›πš”πšŽπšœπš πš‘πš˜πšžπš› 𝚘𝚏 πš‘πšŽπš› πš•πš’πšπšŽ, πš’πš πšœπšŽπšŽπš–πšŽπš πš•πš’πš”πšŽ πšπš‘πš’πšœ πšŒπš‘πšŠπš™πšπšŽπš› πš πš˜πšžπš•πš πš πš›πš’πšπšŽ πš’πšπšœπšŽπš•πš 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 πšŠπš—πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš› πšπš‘πš’πšŽπš, πšŒπš˜πš—-πš πš˜πš–πšŠπš— πšŠπš—πš πšŒπš›πš’πš–πš’πš—πšŠπš• πš’πš— πšœπš‘πšŽπšŽπš™'𝚜 πšŒπš•πš˜πšπš‘πš’πš—πš.

πšƒπš‘πš˜πšžπšπš‘ 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚎 πš‘πšŠπš 𝚊 πš πšŽπš’πš›πš 𝚠𝚊𝚒 𝚘𝚏 πšœπš‘πš˜πš πš’πš—πš πš’πšπšœπšŽπš•πš πšžπš—πšŠπš—πš—πš˜πšžπš—πšŒπšŽπš πš‹πšŽπšπš˜πš›πšŽ πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πš’πš›πš πšŒπš˜πšžπš•πš πš–πš˜πš  πšπš˜πš πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšŽπš•πš™πš•πšŽπšœπšœ πšœπšžπš›πšŸπš’πšŸπš˜πš›πšœ 𝚊 πš„πš—πš£πšπšŠπšπšπš•πš’πšπšŽβ€‹ πšŠπš™πš™πšŽπšŠπš›πšŽπš πš’πš— πš’πš'𝚜 πš πšŠπš›πšπš˜πš›πš– πš πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ πš’πš πš•πšŠπš’πš 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ π™΄πš–πš™πšŽπš›πš˜πš›'𝚜 πšŠπšŽπš›πš’πšŠπš• πšπš˜πš›πšŒπšŽπšœ πš πš’πšπš‘ πšœπš”πš’πš•πš• πšŠπš—πš πš™πš›πšŽπšŒπš’πšœπš’πš˜πš— πš˜πš—πš•πš’ πšŠπšŒπš‘πš’πšŽπšŸπšŽπš πš‹πš’ 𝙰𝙸 (πš˜πš› πš πš‘πšŠπšπšŽπšŸπšŽπš› πšπš‘πšŽ πšπšžπšŒπš” πšπš‘πšŠπš πšπš‘πš’πš—πš 𝚠𝚊𝚜). π™Ώπš›πšŽπšŸπš’πš˜πšžπšœπš•πš’ πš›πšŽπšœπš’πšπš—πšŽπš 𝚝𝚘 πšŠπšŒπšŒπšŽπš™πšπš’πš—πš πš‘πšŽπš› πšπšŽπšŠπšπš‘, π™Ίπš•πšŽπš˜ πš•πš˜πš˜πš”πšŽπš πšžπš™ πš–πšŽπšŽπš”πš•πš’ 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πš—πšŽπšŠπš›πš‹πš’ πš›πš˜πš‹πš˜πš-πš‹πšŠπšπšŠπšœπšœ πšπš‘πš’πš—πš, πšŠπš— πšŠπš•πš’πšŽπš— πš‹πš’ πšŠπš•πš• πšŠπšŒπšŒπš˜πšžπš—πšπšœ πš‹πšžπš πš˜πš—πšŽ πšπš‘πšŠπš 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 πš‘πšŽπš› πš•πš’πšπšŽ. πš‚πš‘πšŽ πšπšŽπš•πš• πšπš˜πš πš—, πš‘πšŽπš› πš‘πšŠπš—πšπšœ πš πš›πšŠπš™πš™πšŽπš πš πš‘πš’πšπšŽ πšŠπš›πš˜πšžπš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πš›πš’πš—πš 𝚊𝚜 πš’πš πšœπš‘πš˜πš˜πš” πš πš’πšπš‘ πšŠπš— πš’πš–πš™πšžπš•πšœπšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πšπšŽπšŠπš›.

π™΅πšŽπšŠπš› 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πšžπš—πš”πš—πš˜πš πš—, πšπšŽπšŠπš› 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšŽπš—πš˜, πšπšŽπšŠπš› 𝚘𝚏 πšπš’πš—πšŠπš• πšπšŽπšŠπšπš‘ - πšœπš‘πšŽ πš•πš˜πš˜πš”πšŽπš 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πš πšŠπš›-πšπš˜πš›πš–πšŽπš πšŒπš›πšŽπšŠπšπšžπš›πšŽ πšŽπš‘πš™πšŽπšŒπšπš’πš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πš—πšŽπš‘πš πš›πš˜πšžπš—πš πšπš˜πš› πš‘πšŽπš› 𝚒𝚎𝚝 πš’πš πšπš’πš πš—πš˜πšπš‘πš’πš—πš.

π™Άπš˜πš πš’πšœ 𝚊 πšŒπš˜πš–πšŽπšπš’πšŠπš—.



π™Έπš 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πš™πšŽπšŠπšŒπšŽπšπšžπš• πš˜πš— πšπš‘πšŠπš πš‹πšžπš–πš™πš’ πš›πš’πšπšŽ πšžπš™, πš πš‘πšŠπšπšŽπšŸπšŽπš› πš’πš 𝚠𝚊𝚜. πš‚πš•πšŽπšŽπš™ πšŒπšŠπš–πšŽ πš•πš’πšπšπš•πšŽ πšπšžπš›πš’πš—πš πšŠπš— πšŠπšŒπšπš’πšŸπšŽ πšœπš˜πš•πšπš’πšŽπš›'𝚜 πšŒπšŠπš›πšŽπšŽπš› πšŠπš—πš πš’πš— πšœπšŽπš›πšŸπš’πšŒπšŽ, 𝚊𝚜 πšŠπš— πš’πš—πšπšŽπš—πšπšžπš›πšŽπš πšœπš•πšŠπšŸπšŽ 𝚝𝚘 πšŠπš— πšžπš—πš”πš—πš˜πš πš— πšπš›πš˜πšžπš™ π™Ίπš•πšŽπš˜ πšπš˜πš˜πš” πš’πš πš πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ πšœπš‘πšŽ πšŒπš˜πšžπš•πš. πš†πšŽπš•πš•, πšœπš‘πšŽ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πšŒπš˜πš—πšπš’πšπšŽπš—πš πšœπš‘πšŽ πšŒπš˜πšžπš•πš πšœπš•πšŽπšŽπš™ πšŠπš—πš πš—πš˜πš πšπš’πšŽ - πš™πšŠπšœπšœ πš’πš—πšπš˜ πšπš‘πšŽ πš—πšŽπš‘πš πš•πš’πšπšŽ. π™»πšŽπšŠπšŸπš’πš—πš πš™πš•πšŠπš—πšŽπš 𝚍𝚘𝚐-πšπšžπšŒπš” 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 πš‹πš•πšžπš›, πšŒπš›πšŽπšŠπšπšžπš›πšŽπšœ πšŠπš—πš πš’πš—πšœπšŽπšŒπšπšœ, πš›πš˜πšŠπš–πšŽπš πšπš‘πšŽ πš•πšŠπš—πšπšœ 𝚊𝚜 πšœπš‘πšŽ πšπšŽπš•πš• πš‹πšŠπšŒπš” πš˜πš— πšπš‘πš˜πšœπšŽ πšπš’πš›πšπš’ πš–πšŽπš–πš˜πš›πš’πšŽπšœ 𝚘𝚏 πš‘πšŽπš›. π™΄πš–πš˜πšπš’πš˜πš—πšœ πš‹πšŽπšπš›πšŠπš’πšŽπš πš‘πšŽπš› 𝚊𝚜 πšœπš‘πšŽ πš πš˜πš”πšŽ πšžπš™ πš‹πšŽπš’πš—πš πš‘πšŠπš•πš πšπš›πšŠπšπšπšŽπš πšŠπš—πš πš πšŠπš•πš”πšŽπš πš˜πš— 𝚊 πšœπšπš›πšŠπš—πšπšŽ πšŠπš•πš’πšŽπš— πšœπš™πšŠπšŒπšŽπšœπš‘πš’πš™. πš‚πš‘πšŽ πšŒπš•πšžπš—πš πšŠπš—πš πš‘πšŽπš•πš πš˜πš—πšπš˜ πš πš‘πšŠπšπšŽπšŸπšŽπš› 'πš‘πšŽπš•πš™πšπšžπš• πšœπššπšžπš’πš' πšŠπš•πš’πšŽπš— 𝚐𝚘𝚝 πš‘πšŽπš› πš˜πš—πšŽ 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝 πš’πš— πšπš›πš˜πš—πš 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš›. πš‚πš‘πš’πš πš•πš’πš”πšŽ πšπš‘πš’πšœ πš‘πšŠπš™πš™πšŽπš—πšœ πš πš‘πšŽπš— 𝚒𝚘𝚞'πš›πšŽ 𝚊 πšœπššπšžπš’πšœπš‘πš’ πš‘πšžπš–πšŠπš—, πš‹πšžπš πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšžπš–πšŠπš— πš‹πš˜πšπš’ πš’πšœ πš›πšŽπšœπš’πš•πš’πšŽπš—πš πšŠπš—πš πš’πš'πš•πš• πšπšŠπš”πšŽ πš–πš˜πš›πšŽ πšπš‘πšŠπš— πš“πšžπšœπš πš‘πšŽπš•πš• 𝚝𝚘 πš”πš’πš•πš• πšŠπš— π™°πš•πšŸπšŽπšœ.

π™Ίπš•πšŽπš˜ πš πš˜πšžπš•πš πš‹πšŽ πš˜πš—πšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš’πš›πšœπš 𝚝𝚘 πš‘πš’πš πšπš‘πšŽ πšŒπš˜πš–πšπš’ πšŠπš—πš πš πšŽπš•πšŒπš˜πš–πš’πš—πš πšŒπšžπšœπš‘πš’πš˜πš—πšœ 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ 'πšŽπš‘πš˜πšπš’πšŒ' πšŠπš•πš’πšŽπš— πšŒπš˜πšžπšŒπš‘ πšπš‘πšŠπš πšœπš‘πšŽ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πšπš˜πš›πšŒπšŽπš 𝚝𝚘 πšœπš’πš πš˜πš—. πš‚πš˜πš‹πšŽπš›πš’πš—πš πšžπš™ πšœπš‘πšŽ 𝚎𝚒𝚎𝚍 πšπš‘πšŽ πš›πš˜πš‹πš˜πš πšžπš™ πšŠπš—πš πšπš˜πš πš—, πš—πš˜πš πš’πš–πš™πš›πšŽπšœπšœπšŽπš πšπš‘πšŠπš πšœπš‘πšŽ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πš˜πš—πšŒπšŽ πšŠπšπšŠπš’πš— πšœπšžπš‹πš“πšŽπšŒπšπšŽπš 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 πš›πš˜πš‹πš˜πš πš πš‘πš’πšŒπš‘ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πš–πšŠπš’πš‹πšŽ 𝚊 πšœπššπšžπš’πš πšŽπš—πšŒπšŠπšœπšŽπš πš’πš— πš’πšπšœ πšŽπš•πšŽπšŒπšπš›πš˜πš—πš’πšŒπšœ πš˜πš› 𝚊 πšπš‘πš˜πšœπš πšπš›πš˜πš– πšπš‘πšŽ 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍. πš‚πš‘πšŽ πšžπš—πš‹πšžπšŒπš”πš•πšŽπš πš πš‘πšŠπš 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πš•πšŽπšπš 𝚘𝚏 πš‘πšŽπš› πš‘πšŽπš•πš–πšŽπš πšŠπš—πš πšπš˜πš˜πš” πš’πš πš’πš— πš‹πš˜πšπš‘ πš‘πšŽπš› πš‘πšŠπš—πšπšœ, πšœπšπš’πš•πš• πšœπš‘πšŠπš”πš’πš—πš πšπš›πš˜πš– πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšŽπš•πš• πšœπš‘πšŽ πš“πšžπšœπš πšŽπš—πšπšžπš›πšŽπš - πš‘πš˜πš  πšπš’πš πšπš‘πšŽπšœπšŽ πšŠπš•πš’πšŽπš—πšœ 𝚍𝚘 πš’πš? π™Έπš πšπš˜πš˜πš” 𝚊 πšπš˜πš•πš• πš˜πš— πš‘πšŽπš›, πš•πš’πš”πšŽ πš’πš πšπš’πš πšŽπšŸπšŽπš›πš’ πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš› πš‘πšžπš–πšŠπš— πš‹πšžπš πš πš‘πšŽπš— 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πšŽπš—πš˜πšžπšπš‘ πšπš›πšžπš•πš’ πšŽπš—πš˜πšžπšπš‘ πšπš˜πš› πšπš‘πšŽπšœπšŽ πšŠπšœπšœπš‘πš˜πš•πšŽπšœ πšŠπš—πš’πš πšŠπš’?

πš†πš’πšπš‘ πšπš‘πšŠπš, πšœπš‘πšŽ πš•πšŠπšžπš—πšŒπš‘πšŽπš πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšŽπš•πš–πšŽπš 𝚊𝚝 πšπš‘πšŽ 'πšŒπš˜πš–πš–πšŠπš—πšπšŽπš› πšπš˜πš‹πš˜πšπš›πš˜πš— 𝟿𝟢𝟢𝟢' πšπš‘πšŠπš 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πšœπš™πšŽπšŠπš”πš’πš—πš 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš›πš˜πšžπš™, 𝚝𝚘 πš‘πšŽπš•πš• πš πš’πšπš‘ πšπš‘πš’πšœ πš›πš˜πš‹πš˜πš πšπšŠπš”πšŽ πš˜πšŸπšŽπš›. π™Ίπš•πšŽπš˜ πšŒπš˜πšžπš•πš πš—πšŽπšŸπšŽπš› πšπšŠπš”πšŽ πš˜πš›πšπšŽπš›πšœ πšπš›πš˜πš– 𝚊 πšœπšŠπš—πšπš πš’πšŒπš‘ πšπš˜πšŠπšœπšπšŽπš›.

"𝙡-.. π™΅πšžπšŒπš” 𝚒𝚘𝚞, πš›πš˜πš‹πš˜πš πš–πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš› πšπšžπšŒπš”πšŽπš›!" π™Ίπš•πšŽπš˜ 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝, πšŠπš—πš 𝚊 πšœπš™πšžπšπšπšŽπš› 𝚘𝚏 πš›πšŽπš‹πšŽπš• πš’πšπš—πš’πšπšŽπš πš•πš’πš”πšŽ 𝚊 πšœπš–πšŠπš•πš• πš”πš’πš—πšπš•πšŽπš πšπš’πš›πšŽ πš πš’πšπš‘πš’πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšžπš–πšŠπš— πš–πšŽπšπš’πšŒ.

π™Ίπš•πšŽπš˜ πš πš’πšπš‘πš˜πšžπš πš‘πšŽπš› πš‘πšŽπš•πš–πšŽπš πš‘πšŠπš 𝚊 πšŒπš›πš˜πš πš— πš‹πš›πšŠπš’πš, 𝚊 πš‘πšŠπš—πšπšπšžπš• 𝚘𝚏 πš‘πšŠπš’πš› 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 πšžπš™ πšŠπš—πš πš›πšŽπš–πšŠπš’πš—πšŽπš πšπš’πš£πš£πš•πšŽπš πšπš›πš˜πš– πš™πšŽπš›πš‘πšŠπš™πšœ πšπš‘πšŽ πš‘πšŽπšŠπš 𝚘𝚏 πšŒπš˜πš–πš‹πšŠπš. πš‚πš•πš˜πš πš•πš’ πšπš‘πšŽ πš’πš˜πšžπš—πš πš–πšŽπšπš’πšŒ πš™πšžπš•πš•πšŽπš 𝚘𝚞𝚝 πš‘πšŽπš› πšπš•πšŠπšœπšœπšŽπšœ πšŠπš—πš πš™πšžπš πš’πš πš˜πšŸπšŽπš› πšπš‘πšŽ πš—πš˜πšœπšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πš‘πšŽπš› πš‹πš›πš’πšπšπšŽ, πš‘πš˜πš˜πš”πš’πš—πš πš’πš πšŠπš›πš˜πšžπš—πš πšπš‘πšŽ πš‹πšŠπšŒπš” 𝚘𝚏 πš‘πšŽπš› πšŽπšŠπš›πšœ πšŠπš•πš•πš˜πš πš’πš—πš 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 πšπš‘πš’πšœ πšŒπš›πšžπšŽπš• πš πš˜πš›πš•πš πšžπš™ πšŒπš•πš˜πšœπšŽ πšŠπš—πš πšŒπš•πšŽπšŠπš›πš•πš’.

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 πš”πš’πšπš—πšŠπš™πš™πšŽπš πš–πšŽ - πš˜πš› πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš‘πš’πš—πš πš™πš’πš•πš˜πšπš’πš—πš 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πš”πš’πšπš—πšŠπš™πš™πšŽπš πš–πšŽ. π™Ίπš’πšπš—πšŠπš™πš™πšŽπš πš–πšŽ πšŠπš—πš πšπš‘πšŽπšœπšŽ πš‘πšŽπš—πš˜πšœ, 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πš—πšŽπšŽπš 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚜 πš•πš˜πš˜πšœπšŽ. 𝙸'πš– πš—πš˜πš πš’πš˜πšžπš› πšπšžπšŒπš”πš’πš—πš πšœπš•πšŠπšŸπšŽ. π™°πš•πš–πš˜πšœπš πšπš’πšŽπš πšπš˜πš› πš’πš˜πšžπš› πšπš’πšπš‘πš, πš πš‘πš’? πšƒπšŽπš•πš• πš–πšŽ πš πš‘πš’ 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πšŒπšŠπš•-πšŒπšžπš•πšŠπšπš›πšŠπš πš—! πš‚πš πšŽπšŠπš› 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚍, '𝚊𝚍𝚍 πš’πš˜πšžπš› πš—πšŽπšžπš›πšŠπš•-πšπšžπšŒπš”-πš™πš›πš˜πšŒπšŽπšœπšœπš˜πš› 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πšœπšŒπš›πšŠπš™ πš‘πšŽπšŠπš™ πš πš’πšπš‘ πš–πš’ πšπš•πšŠπšπš’πšžπšœ πš’πš πš’πš'𝚜 πšπš‘πšŽ πš•πšŠπšœπš 'πšπš’πš—πš” 𝙸 𝚍𝚘." π™Ίπš•πšŽπš˜ πšœπšπš˜πš™πš™πšŽπš πš‘πšŽπš› πšπš’πšŠπšπš›πš’πš‹πšŽ πšπš˜πš› 𝚊 πš–πš˜πš–πšŽπš—πš 𝚝𝚘 πšŒπš˜πšžπšπš‘ πšœπš˜πš–πšŽ πš‹πš•πš˜πš˜πš πš˜πš—πšπš˜ πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš›πš˜πšžπš—πš 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πšœπššπšžπšŽπšŠπš”πš’ πšŒπš•πšŽπšŠπš— πšŸπšŽπšœπšœπšŽπš•.

πš‚πš‘πšŽ πš•πšŽπšŠπš—πšŽπš πš‹πšŠπšŒπš” πš’πš—πšπš˜ πšπš‘πšŽ πšŒπš˜πšžπšŒπš‘ πš πš’πšπš‘ 𝚊 πšπš›πš˜πšŠπš—. "π™±πšŠπšœπšπšŠπš›πš, 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πšŽπšŸπš’πš• πšπšžπšŒπš”πš’πš—πš πš‹πšŠπšœπšπšŠπš›πš. πš†πšŠπš’πš 'πš— 𝚜𝚎𝚎, πšπš‘πš’πšœ πš™πšŠπš πš— πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ? πš‚πš‘πšŽ'πš•πš• πš‹πšŽ πš˜πš—πšŽ 𝚝𝚘 πšπšŠπš”πšŽ πšπš‘πšŽ πš”πš’πš—πš, πš πš‘πš˜πšŽπšŸπšŽπš› πš’πš˜πšžπš› πš”πš’πš—πš πš’πšœ. 𝙸'πš•πš• πš™πšžπš πš‘πš’πš–.. π™²πš‘πšŽπšŒπš”πš–πšŠπšπšŽ."
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Hidden 14 days ago 12 days ago Post by Terminal
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Terminal Rancorous Narrative Proxy

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Everything he did not see was a waking nightmare to him.

The nonsensical paradox was quite literal. The sophisticated mechanism at the core of his body that measured the parameters of his phantasmagorical skin in order to provide him with sensation had a fully spherical field of view and never turned off. Before, when he had still been alive, he could simply constrain his field of view to something Human-adjacent for a more digestible experience.

Now though, dead and buried, if he closed his one third eye even slightly, in the writhing darkness beneath its synthetic eyelids he could instead - see the festering, putrescent, monstrous beings pupating inside what remained of his entombed corpse. He swore they moved. Every time he dared to try and examine them he swore their everting maws and pulsating, grime-lathered ventricular pores had pulsated in some edacious fashion that he could not quite commit to memory.

The alternative of a full field of view without end, warped and blown out of proportion by his limited Human experience, reigned as a seductive siren's call promising an end to the fitful night terrors. He knew, however, that is was but one of the many self-imposed facets and aspects of his new form that if he embraced too fully, all pretense of Humanity would abandon him. He would lose sight of what-was and drown in the metamorphic numen, reverse transubstantiation of the mind and soul to mirror the state of the body - the placid, inert fluid being reshaped and molding to the form of its new container. While that might not have necessarily been a bad thing, per se, there was always then the forlorn, insidious notion: If he adapted too well to his new form, he would never be able to return to what remained of his corpse.

Make a heaven of hell to find damnation in paradise, or endure an unending continuation of freakish misery for the distant promise of far-flung catharsis and absolution? The classic dilemma in a new, modernized experience embodied in an exploration of phantom sensation. In their magnanimity, his current hosts had even arranged his living conditions to neatly mirror his sleepless, daylight horror. The Tarrhaidim​ and Vrexul dominated aesthetics of the vessel he had been reassigned to charming him with its rancid, fungal aesthetic at every turn, as if the whole ship was a corpse with industrial-sleek and glittering mold covering every relevant surface. He was not certain whether the convergent aesthetics on display between the two alien species and his own personal torment were incidental or deliberate - all he knew for certain was that they almost certainly saw him in just a distasteful light as he saw them. The so-called bunking arrangements at general quarters aboard the ship, in particular, were insufferably claustrophobic and altogether too similar to the writhing torment that occupied his blind spot.

It was thus no surprise that he instead spent the majority of his time 'patrolling' his new host vessel for the purposes of finding the single least visually offensive vista where he could ineffectually bang his head against the metallic hydrogen facade of contemplative normalcy he tried to maintain if only for the sake of his own withering sanity. There was no salvation to be found - practically every squirming centimeter of the alien vessel churned and seethed with the rush of biomechanical life. The company he had to keep, of course, was even worse. It was as if every single asshole inside of twelve AU wanted to put their own mutagenic excess on display - that most of them were bent and twisted into rough approximations of Humanoid form almost seemed condescending.

Needless to say, after having run what passed for his mouth a few times, the majority of the crew and passengers had come to view him with precisely the same disgust he held for most of them. He had already been disciplined (Ha! HA! AHAHAHA!!!) multiple times for 'speciest proclivities and discriminatory sentiment.' He could clearly see how indulging in such base and distasteful behavior was hindering his ongoing efforts, but what else could he do? He did not even have the relative oasis of his own body to find respite in - or to find the rudiments of civility in. He needed something to ground his Humanity in, and if it won him no favors from his erstwhile 'allies,' they could go find a large mass of anti-neutronium to kick.

β€œKing.”

Yes. That was him. The not-name for his body anyway. He shook off the passing, questionable entertainment of his reverie to continue arguing with the bay quartermaster. He glanced off to the side, behind where the Quartermaster stood, to look at the security-feed displaying the counter-side view of the desk and whoever happened to be on the receiving end of it. It was still him he saw. Approximately 1.78 meters in height and still looking a little too thin, even with the bulked-up ballistics suit he had projected over the display for his skin. His auburn-colored hair was presently being worn in a loose ponytail until he could be assed to devise something really eccentric. The expression on the angular features of his face was still one of vague disinterest however - only the deep-green coloration of his eyes really stood out at the moment. Conjuring up a bid of concentration, he managed to twist the external photon-curtain for his face to resemble an approximation of scornful expression.

"That's my name, don't chew on it too much before spitting it out." He retorted.

He was King.



"Your requisition request has - once more - been denied." The Quartermaster wheezed through the biomechanical equivalent of a respirator. Like everything else on the ship, they were a little too tall, spindly, and corpse-like for King's taste.

"What, all six thousand of them?" King asked plaintively as he leaned elbow-first on the commissary counter.

"It was impressive that you had the patience and commitment to press the 'Confirm and Send' button six thousand times. I can only imagine how much time that took you. However, all the duplicates were filtered and omitted by the governing system."

"So why was the one application that got through rejected?"

The Quartermaster leaned down from across the commissary window, practically butting head to head with King in the process before answering.

"I took such apoplectic offense to your attitude from before that I, in my rage, lost your form. I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you personally."

"Nothing to it, scatterbrains, pretty sure they make a pill for that." King made a show of gritting the teeth he did not have while locking what currently passed for his eyes with the quartermaster's own beady, optical lens. "Look, I ask for so very, very little. I do not even eat. Is it so much to ask that you actually do your job and requisition the one, singular item that might make abiding your creepy, insufferable countenance otherwise tolerable, which I have been asking you to get for the last fourteen billion cycles?"

The quartermaster leaned back from across the counter again. "Without even having looked into it, you are asking for a form of physical media that could be perfectly viewed digitally. You could even look at it right now, if what I know about your apparatus is right. Obtaining a physical copy is redundant, risky, expensive - and unnecessary. Do not file a similar request again."

"So on top of being lazy, ugly, and dim-witted, we can now add 'inept' to the lengthy list of your many physical failings." King made a concerted effort to twist the photon-curtain of his face to approximate a contemptuous sneer. "I, for one, cannot wait to get to know you better so I can figure out what is also wrong with your personality. I'll resubmit the form another six-thousand times with unique modifications each time if that's what it takes. Just get it for me you complete waste of my time..." He banged on the commissary counter with the project for his right fist before turning around with a somewhat over-embellished sweeping gesture. Then he made to strut away, taking care to make sure his feet were actually touching the floor and to throw in some exaggerated nigh-drunken sway to really sell the picture of barely-contained indignant rage. He had no idea if the alien quartermaster could even read Human body-language, but it was not for his benefit regardless.

The quartermaster threw something wet and viscous at the back of King's head. It struck and splattered itself against the contours of the photon-curtain for King's hair, neck, and shoulders.

'Get mad. Get really mad. Hormonal, impulsive, completely reckless rage. You are incandescent with hate. Let's go. Get mad. Just imagine it as if it had happened to you for real. Get mad. Get mad. Get mad.'

King's form stood still and rigid for several moments, but he failed to properly approximately the still-but-livid shock that he remembered as coming with being struck by something filthy from an unseen angle. He couldn't quite bend the eyes projected by the photon-curtain to swell with visible hate. He couldn't quite get the photo-curtain's skin to ripple with reflexive shock. He couldn't quite get the set of his jaw to broaden and lower in animal ferocity.

Most damningly, though: He also couldn't quite bring himself to care.

King shrugged faintly, and the surface of his entire body shimmered with iridescent waves of scintillating light as his photon-curtain remodulated itself. He applied a faint burst of ablative-kinetic shock to the residue of whatever the Quartermaster had thrown at him and sent it scattering across the walls and floor. Utterly defeated, he then drifted off - literally. His feet did not even touch the ground as he pulled his host mechanism across the bay and to the nearest juncture, ignoring the alien curses the Quartermaster was flinging at his back.

Before he could ruminate for too long on his failings and contemplate jettisoning himself out the nearest airlock to scream in space for the rest of forever, he received a communique from the Invictoid Authority. The strike team was back. Time for mission debrief and introductions. Time to pretend to care about another mishmash of random assholes out here in the back end of nowhere, space, running aggrandized wetwork for the interstellar political equivalent of a howling infant. There was always the possibility some of them might be Human of course. Or at least look passably Human. He could have reviewed the strike team's profiles in advance but had elected to savor the disappointment in person.

As he made to enter the briefing room, resplendent with its insultingly mundane table and chairs, he was genuinely shocked for the first time in months when he heard a Human voice stained with the very indignant rage he had just attempted and failed to conjure up - and then he beheld the frazzled countenance of one Kleo Alves, attempting to chew out the Invictoid Authority as though she did not know it had been dealing with him for long enough that she would be unable to faze it even if she had spat in its face.

He frowned when she visibly coughed blood on the ground. Did she have internal bleeding? Had the medics not tended to her yet? Typical. Still, she was healthy enough to scream at an authority figure, that meant she was healthy enough to humor a little hazing.

"π™±πšŠπšœπšπšŠπš›πš, 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πšŽπšŸπš’πš• πšπšžπšŒπš”πš’πš—πš πš‹πšŠπšœπšπšŠπš›πš. πš†πšŠπš’πš 'πš— 𝚜𝚎𝚎, πšπš‘πš’πšœ πš™πšŠπš πš— πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ? πš‚πš‘πšŽ'πš•πš• πš‹πšŽ πš˜πš—πšŽ 𝚝𝚘 πšπšŠπš”πšŽ πšπš‘πšŽ πš”πš’πš—πš, πš πš‘πš˜πšŽπšŸπšŽπš› πš’πš˜πšžπš› πš”πš’πš—πš πš’πšœ. 𝙸'πš•πš• πš™πšžπš πš‘πš’πš–.. π™²πš‘πšŽπšŒπš”πš–πšŠπšπšŽ."
Kleo Alves

"That..." He said, putting a bit of a spinning, exaggerated drawl in the intonation of his voice as he strutted into the room, "Would be me!"

He made directly for the seat nearest to where Kleo was standing, spun it around, and made a show of heaping himself in it before propping his boots up on the table directly in front of her.

"The name is King, don't forget it." He drew up a hand right beside the temple of his brow and snapped his fingers while twisting the photo-curtain of his face into a familiar, savage smirk. He could not quite manage to perfectly mimic the friction of flesh on flesh to approximate a snapping sound, so he instead emitted the faintest of laser-pulses to generate a plasma-mediated vacuum around the tips of his fingers that would simulate a snapping sound. "And you can checkmate me any day of the terrestrial week you like, Queen, but kindly refrain from coughing blood all over my boots."

Externally, everything about King would have screamed 'civie' to the others looking at him. He was wearing a flagrantly ineffective and eye-catching overcoat over a very light ballistic suit that would not have saved him from a single shot in an actual fight, and he had close to no muscle mass or definition to speak of. He seemed like some 20-somethings spoiled Human brat, for the most part - except...

There was something off about his appearance. An eerie stillness to him - as though he was not breathing. As if no part of him moved unless he wanted it to. More than that, he was a sensory dead patch in the room. Beyond infrared and thermal picking him up as a colder than cold Humanoid-shaped patch, everything else would return a scan of being either completely overloaded just from looking at him, or else make him out to simply not be there at all. To the Etheric sense particularly, it was as though he did not exist.

"Task failed successfully, team?" He laughed.
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Hidden 13 days ago 13 days ago Post by vietmyke
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vietmyke

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ECHO DOMAIN - PLATFORM #2884


The trip back to the ship was a mundane one, which after such harsh fighting was agreeable. The unztadtlige was a creature of war, but lulls in the conflict were to be enjoyed as well. The Warform was left behind in the great bioship's hangar, awaiting repairs and servicing as it had took the brunt of the damage Echo had sustained. Not to mention the hulking figure of the Warform wouldn't have fit in the corridors anyway.

Instead, the Endoform plodded heavily behind the rest of the squad as they slowly filtered into the semi-organic conference room of the ship for their debriefing. The Endoform didn't tire like natural humanoids did, so it didn't see the need to sit down and 'relax' but it did hunch down on its legs in the equivalent of 'taking a knee'- mainly so the Endoform would not obstruct the view of others. The human of their group had already begun conversing with their commander, though much of her speech made little sense to the colony. Echo's best guess was that the humanoid was upset about taking damage to her exterior shell.

Before Echo had fully finished processing their compatriot's vitriol, another entered the room, one not originally with their strike team. Introducing itself as King, Echo's visual scanners found it incongruent with the typical human norms, despite its similar shape. Multi-spectrum scans of the figure illicted something close to discomfort. Echo quickly switching back to its standard camera. The Endoform emitted a short mechanical whine that could be best described as frustration. Like Kleo, this one spoke in strange sentences.

"Report. All directives completed successfully." The Echo platform corrected over its external speakers, both the command unit and the newcomer not yet added to the squad comm network. The head of the Endoform turned to the biomechanical commander. "Acknowledged. No current inquiries."
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Hidden 12 days ago Post by Psyker Landshark
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Psyker Landshark return to monke

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Salvator Rasch


Finally, this shitfest of a mission was complete. All in a day's work with the Intransigence, really. He didn't relax until his feet hit the ship's deck, though relax was a rather strong term in this instance. More along the lines of he wasn't prepared for imminent death at any second now. Salvator just dutifully followed along as the commander unit escorted them, more than familiar with this outfit's debriefing procedures at this point. Once they were within the meeting room, he held his questions as Kleo decided to speak up first.

...Alright, speak was a bit of an understatement. Should've figured that the kid was a human supremacist, considering how she'd acted on-planet. Not the rarest thing in the galaxy. Every species had this sort, and it didn't make any one species more or less racist than the rest. The kidnapping claim was more interesting.

Salvator gave the odd human in the civvie outfit a curt nod before stepping forward, placing his palms down on the table as he stared the commander unit down.

"Go easy on her, kid's lost a lot of blood. Though I have to ask if her kidnapping claims are true. Are they? Because at the end of the day, we both know that unwilling soldiers aren't efficient." He didn't even bother trying to make a moral argument at this point. It'd just be brushed off anyway.

"And speaking of whys..." Salvator reached up to pull his hood down and remove his helmet, revealing a bald, blue-skinned voidhanger with a rather well-kept beard. He narrowed his eyes. "Last I checked, we were supposed to be on-planet to help the local population. So why were we ordered to do the exact opposite? Explain how this benefits the cause."
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Hidden 11 days ago Post by Oraculum
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Oraculum Perambulans in tenebris

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Ilshar Ard’sabekh


The approach to the dropship put Ilshar at ease. The sight of something so large under an optic cloak was always somewhat offputting, calling to mind an imitation of some Abyssal presence - something that was not supposed to be seen being forced into an approximation of a visible presence - but the smell of metal-melded biomass and, above all, the etheric breeze he could feel from it if he focused were soothing. All that living matter, fated to rot one day. After the hectic tides of danger of several battles, this mass of coagulated certainty was a refreshing sense of firmness, helping still his mind like a tree-stem it could latch onto. He unlatched his helmet and let it dangle from his fingers, air whistling through the grille of his exposed teeth. Great Spiral, whatever he might have done on this planet, it felt good to be finished. His hands interlinked in the sign of the twofold ring in a gesture of thanks.

Onboard the craft, the visible world reasserted itself, getting rid of the jarring sensory mismatch. Ironically, this left Ilshar’s thoughts free to wander to unpleasant places. What the Yrrkradians had been to Enthuur, he had been here. Was this some kind of jest of fate, a turn of the concentric folds in the Nexus’ bottomless gulch? More likely, it was simply on him. To distract himself, he shaped more eyes and tasting orifices as he walked, drinking in the pulse of melded life from all around and idly dwelling on the oddities that lined his passage. Now and again some trooper’s salvaged Dominion gear stung him like a sore spot in the eyes.

The new, or was it, handler the Envenomed came across was a welcome distraction for the time being. He was even ready to bear with it being a cyborg. If nothing else, it had some biomatter around its dead metal, though he suspected all of it was synthetic. That still put the Authority Node above the other newcomer that joined the squad in the debrief room. Not being able to feel anything from that apparent human was ever so slightly disturbing. Even a mechanoid would have smelled of steel and plastic, but this β€œKing”, nothing. Ilshar could’ve thought he was a hologram, but he was clearly solid. He leaned away from the eerie presence in the chair he had perched on, answering his jibe with a hostile growl of β€œLooks like we’ve got a laughing one here.”

Kleo’s delirious ramblings flew by without shaking him from the wary contemplation of King, but then Rasch voiced what had been looming grimly in the back of his mind.

β€œIt’s never about helping. Not in this business.” Ilshar’s finger traced the rust-coloured spiral pattern on the bared livid, rubbery membranous skin of his forearm. β€œWhatever our employer’s after isn’t going to align with anyone else’s goal forever.”

He turned his eye-ringed mouth to the Authority Node.

β€œBut I still wouldn’t mind knowing what it is. What’s the Intransigence’s angle on Zanovia? It can’t just be messing with the League for the fun of it.” Why did he do it? There better have been a good reason, for what little that was worth.
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Hidden 11 days ago Post by 13org
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13org Stay fresh!

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For a moment, the sound of metal creaking was everything Alice could hear, as the huge walker went down the hill, creating as much, if not more damage to the terrain than it had on it's previous, violent charge towards them. It wasn't a fun mission, nor one that went without it's share of problems but they were all fine... Mostly. Kleo still needed some proper medical attention and now that the adrenaline was starting to die down, Alice as well began feeling the shrapnel in her back from the previous explosion. Pain began in waves, one after another until it came back as strong as in the beginning.

Fortunately, it took but a moment for the ship that was going to extract them to arrive, appearing almost out of nowhere due to it's extremely advanced technology. The command coming from the soldiers disembarking and securing a perimeter with an almost mechanical-like efficiency around them was direct and simple. Board and depart. Their mission was complete. Exactly in time for the much needed medical attention for both her and Kleo.




It was almost strange how in the span of a few seconds, the battlefield they were in was left behind, remaining just as a memory. The tranquility and calmness within the ship stood in stark contrast to the endless cacophony of gunfire, explosions, and death that had surrounded them on the battlefield mere seconds before. Unfortunately, despite the grave wounds that Kleo had suffered and the shrapnel embedded into Alice's back, it seemed like their presence was being expected by the commander of that ship, a vaguely humanoid, skeletal machine going by the designation: Invictoid Authority Node 04/10.

Quickly acknowledging their presence upon arrival, the machine spoke. It's voice sounding like a strange echo around it as it addressed the Envenomed. The machine's speech was direct and efficient, dismissing any sort of formality as it asked them to follow it to a more... comfortable room, before urging the Envenomed to ask their questions it knew they would definitely have. Time seemed to be of utmost importance and value for the mysterious machine.

Kleo's reaction upon reaching the room was completely unexpected though. Despite her grave wounds, Kleo didn't hesitate in throwing her helmet at the machine as she began a stream of insults and threats towards it, mentioning how she was kidnapped and how she almost died, inevitably ending with her letting herself fall on the couch after coughing blood into the ground, a clear sign that her wounds had reopened.

"Kleo... Your wounds... Please calm down." Alice said delicately, going to where she was as she quickly took an apologetic glance towards the commander and the strange human that now had his boots covered by Kleo's blood. Upon closer look, the latter one, despite it's outwards human-like appearance, had quite an unsettling feel about him. The lack of movements as it stood still, not moving even for breathing make it look more like an ultra-realistic sculpture than a human. King would also notice Alice staring at him for a bit too long, before turning away.

"I'm sorry. It is as Salvator said. She has lost quite a bit of blood and was severely wounded. We both need some medical attention, but her wounds are much worse than mine." Alice said, both to the commander and the human named 'King' Should they agree that Kleo deserved urgent medical care, it would buy them some time to calm her down and hopefully address any concerns or doubts she might have.

Aside from her concerns about Kleo's well being, the points raised by both Salvator and Ilshar did also make her concerned. What exactly was the goal of their mission in Zanovia? Were they really just fulfilling a contract?

"That would make us quite similar to any other big corporations in the galaxy, wouldn't it? Moving ourselves for money and contracts, rather than for a cause..." Alice said, replying to Ilshar and Salvator's words as she took an inquisitive glance at the Authority Node.

"I also wouldn't mind for a proper explanation about what happened... Like many others that joined the Intransigence, I also suffered greatly in the hands of other greedy mega corporations. It would disappoint me greatly to see the Intransigence taking a similar path..." She completed, looking to the bio-machine with a serious expression.
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Hidden 10 days ago 10 days ago Post by LustForDecay
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LustForDecay Death Metal Maniac From 2010 Or Something

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*CLANK*

The air around the skeletal being shimmered, pond-like if a stone had splashed into it, but no such sound emerged. A hard thud sent the projectile bounding back, clattering on the tiled floor.

There was no response from the commander, far more interested in what pressing questions had demanded.

"Nobody here can say they are being granted a mercy being placed under our command. Elsewhere, your comrade may have simply been made to face a wall with their hands behind their back. Mere service to the League in some circles is the greatest transgression. Truthfully, I cannot blame them; many bear the scars of the League's humanitarian generosity even before it was a single imperial alliance rather than two. I can however, veto certain complaints and injunctions. Consider this a sentence with more leeway for her than was originally intended; even command level accusations of reactionary belief have their limits in our domains. If she wants it further shortened, I am sure the rifles of those you are sent against will gladly oblige."

Echo would detect an electronic flicker as a signal was transmitted from the cyborg to a wall adjacent of them. Four corners formed those of a rectangular shape and holographic light extended, a luminescent and soothing green-blue that resulted in the formation of a screen of raking lines and fizzling static. Definition gradually overtook them and it would appear to gain an entirely solid construction as if light itself had become tangible. It blinked; a news channel manifested, League in origin based on the quad-winged x-shape of wings and the eye-hilted blade that stabbed down the middle that flashed before the screen. It shrunk into the corner and, next to a capitalized stream of pressing news, but far less so than the footage of a familiar, half-sizzled, planarian-headed creature stumbling forth on the screen. Stumps where tendril wings should be were visible on its back and its once majestic figure rested with its arms draped over two shades-wearing human bodyguards. Low-light camera flashed serenaded its return as a voiceover spoke.

"The Solar Broadcast Federation news has learned that roughly 30 terran hours ago the ZRF completed a series of high-profile prisoner exchanges as part of the ongoing territorial negotiations with the New Prosperity planetary government. After the recent Front offensive in the Rhodes Valley, which has resulted in massive losses for the Intransigence-armed rebel group suspected of multiple terrorist offences, a number of captured personnel were exchanged to enforce renewed ceasefire talks, believed to be pushed by more moderate members of the Front leadership. The death of Commandante Sazan, which insurgent leadership has refused to comment on, is believed to have forced them to the negotiating table.

"An impressive piece of the free press serving the iron boot. I believe I do not need to lecture on you which details they left out; details that you no doubt painted by your hand. You have helped; the peace talks are in full effect... but 'peace talk' is doing quite a bit of heavy lifting."

The news-reel continued; scenes of the Artelesia Nation Sector governor wiping the sweat on his bald head under the sun, a distant fire off in the background as heavily armored League marines stood just within peripheral sight of the fish-eye camera lens - a scielto broadcast. His words were subtitled in the alien cursive of the seraphic aliens but his words in the meantime were resolute or bluster depending on the inclination of the viewer; the radical factions that had undone years of benevolent market development and post-Yrrkradian reform but especially that a narrative of 'economic apartheid' based on the productivity of individual city-sectors and economic zones, was little more than foreign interference from Intansigence propagandists and inner-system college protesters blinded by authoritarian trickeries.

"I suppose I have just earned myself the ire from more fanatical of those we ally with for not a single yet two feeds of market-profitable disinfo-news sludge, but an ex-League economic policy greaser like that does not sweat like that when he merely needs to rouse the ire of the foreign-imported business owners and bourgeoisie against a threat. They could not even find an angle that would not hide the smoke in the distance; what's that they called it again? Minor damage from a failed rocket strike? I'll switch to proper news eventually, but tell me, what do you think you were ordered to actually target? A command centre is one thing, but what do you think prompted the peace talks to accelerate? The vassal-state of the League could never retain control forever and this was merely a wake up call. Yet for a most favorable outcome, someone had to go and you have yourselves to congratulate for that. Connect the dots; some of you are special forces, yes? I would fail you now if you could not."

In the meantime, he glanced over to Kleo then to Alice.

"Relocate her to the medical bay, follow the directions on the signs or your personal handheld device. Your comrades will fill you in on the rest when you return. Kleo reeks of a certain sort of Celestial arrogance that would typically cause her to become the subject of re-shared interpersonal media controversies; I can already feel the perversity of her kind's culture vultures ready to pounce on every word. Perhaps that would be a more suitable punishment than death; participation in their discourse of emptiness. In the meantime, I have acquired an additional asset for your assistance." Their smoothly metallic head turned over to the so-called King. "A construct as some of you must have surmised or sensed, hardlight and ethereally near-untouchable. Consider this an exception to our policy on monarchial rule for the convenience of your missions. Something we shall get to sooner than later."
Hidden 6 days ago Post by Kjbivins
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Kjbivins

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Rho-Hux

*The unreliable narrator is strong with this one*

As Rho-Hux walked through the station, he felt like a fresh elver recruit all over again. His old rank of Major meant nothing here; he recognized no officers or soldiers, and most information was closed off to him as he had only been recruited…some time ago. Rho-Hux rubbed his temple as he tried to organize dates and times, but moments and people blurred together more often these days. He remembered talking to someone. Was it in a bar, a shooting ring, or an abandoned mining base on a rogue planet? Regardless, they spoke about Rho-Hux's actions during the Veiled War and Reckoning of Empires with respect and reverence, something his own nephews and nieces had failed in. They wanted, no, needed the Constrictor of Caddadast to return! They said they were from the Intranszjednota, no, the Intransigence, no, that wasn’t right either, …that couldn’t be right. They were the Empire’s intransigence! Yes, that was it! It was a secret organization dedicated to maintaining peace in the galaxy for now and weakening the galactic powers until the Empire was ready to reemerge properly. Now, sometimes, this would mean going after Empire supporters, but Rho-Hux knew these were nothing more than self-obsessed fouls stirring up trouble. Like tending to a tree, the wild branches must be cut off from time to time. That was Rho-Hux’s view, and he was glad he found like-minded people.

So here was Rho-Hux, back at square one. His bones ached, his eyesight had worsened, and his skin looked like it was about to fall off any moment, but he was just as excited for his first mission as he was all those years ago. He had been told he was to be assigned to a relatively new group that had just completed their first mission. As the newcomer, he couldn’t get full access to the mission details, but he could make a few educated guesses. A Commandante Sazan was dead, some high-profile prisoners were exchanged, and Rhodes Valley now had a lot fewer terrorists. That was the one part of the news broadcast Rho-Hux disagreed with. Those rebels were just children having tantrums to get their way. Solar Broadcast Federation would call anyone a terrorist these days.

β€œWhat would they have thought of me in my prime?” Rho-Hux thought to himself.
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Hidden 3 days ago Post by Psyker Landshark
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Psyker Landshark return to monke

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Salvator Rasch


Salvator's frown didn't fade. He should've figured it'd be something like this, but that didn't make the bait-and-switch any less galling. To say nothing of the fact that while he understood the objectives and outcomes of the op, he didn't agree. Peace talks? He wanted the occupiers and colonizers gone.

Of course, what Salvator wanted was far different from what he understood was realistically achievable. Which was just about the only reason he didn't protest further. This sort of outcome was the best the Intrasigence could hope for on an average day. So he just gave the command unit a curt nod, showing his understanding of the matter. Moving on.

King, eh? Hardlight construct was interesting, and-

Did the commander unit just make a fucking joke? Wonders never ceased, apparently.

Getting back on topic, the hardened insurgent inclined his head towards King.

"Salvator Rasch. Good to have you on. Evidently I'm in command, since no one protested otherwise."
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