[center][h3]T H E  C U L T  O F  U G - Q U A L T O T H [/h3][/center] [center][b]The Wrathful Host of what has slumbered under Dunwich [/b][/center]
[hr]
Drums would tell of the coming of the Warbands. Strapped to the carcasses of old Cars, they would beat without rest, as the sea of Bodies marched towards the border. The first among them were the Ghouls, empty eyed and idiotic, a ocean of rotting flesh, driven in front of the Warbands, like dogs, feasting on all, who were not quick enough to run. 

It was them, who drove the few foolish enough to settle near the border in front of them, now fleeing for their mere life, as an unrelenting wall of dark faith, was pushing into Ohio. Death was marching behind them, with them, and now also in front of them. There was no escape from this madness, form a creeping darkness spewing out of the City, that once was known as the Pitt. 

With them came the words of the Prophet, for each Radio was screaming out his Eldritch words, his vile preaching, and the Antediluvian Madness he had witnessed below Dunwich. 

[i]"...for i have tasted the truth, a taste in both Crimson and Lilac! It burned my eyes away, so i tore them out of my skull, for their service was no longer required! I feasted on the flesh, sweet and noble, it coated my tongue, so that my unbound soul may once more burn bright in his Glory! For i have unleashed his word upon this world, so it may burn it clean once more...Spill Blood for the Dark God! Corpses for his Kingdom! LET THE WORLD BURN!"[/i]

One of the Ghouls found his arm trapped into what had once been a sign. Another stumbled into him, followed by another disgusting abomination of flesh. Finally, the Sign gave in, pulling the Ghoul with the arm in it down with him. The others simply would walk over him, right over the sign...[b]Columbus---- 80 Miles[/b]


[hr]
[center] [i][b] 2290, Ruins of Vermilion appx ??.?? am/Pm [url=https://i.pinimg.com/236x/8f/0e/eb/8f0eeb0ae4d6b20acaa9d8236efa99a2--warhammer--legion.jpg] A Warrior among Thousands [/url][/b][/i] [/center]
[hr]

The first breath of Miasma, was like breathing Wax. It coated the insides of the Nose, and gave one a short Nauseating feeling, before the Rush would set in. Muscles would twich, the blood would pump, and the mind would race. Some, Unenlightened fools, compared it to the workings of the Drug psycho, yet nothing could compare to the Blasphemous Fury that was in the Misama. It was a gift from Ug-Qualtoth himself, a grandiose vessel of his effulgence! 

The world around him turned red, as the Warrior took another deep breath together with his comrades. Clad in the Steel of the Holy City, armed with the weapon simply known as "Cutter" and with Murderous Intent burning in their eyes, they stormed towards the Ruins of the City. In the far distance, they could hear the screams of the Unenlightened, and the roaring of their guns. How pitiful their fire was, for they were fired without faith, silent compared to the laughter that they all heared in the Miasma! How lonley they would die tonight, this city being their grave! [b]"TAKE NO PRISONERS! NONE SHALL BE LEFT ALIVE!"[/b]

Then a window was pushed open, and a small figure was firing into the Storming mass, that the Warrior was a part of. Mere Faithless would cower, or run for cover, yet what was mere lead, compared to the Faith of these who had witnessed the Monolith? 
A warrior next to him  was hit in the throat, falling and being trampled by the men running behind him, another one was hit, yet already they would return the fire. Their Cutters would sing their terrible fury out loud, and the figure fell to it. A long laughter left the Warriors mouth, as he used his body, to shatter the door in front of him, storming into what used to be store, long before the world had learned the glory of the Monolith. 

Breathing heavy, the Warrior looked around, unsure why he had left the mass of bodies, still storming into the city outside, capturing Vermilion for the Enlightened. Taking another deep breath, from his Rebreather, filling his lungs with the Miasma, he glared at the things once held in foundness by the people before the great fire. How pitiful their lifes must have been, without the glory of the Prophets words! Then a scream, and a body collided with the Warrior. The Knife scratched against the steel on the Warriors chest, and the sudden impact with the ground, pulled the Rebreather of his head, yet the Warrior was prepared! The Iron-Clad fist, connected with the Face of the Soldier of the Republic, before he smashed his face against his nose, filling the room with a wet breaking sound. A new attempt to sink the knife into the warriors chest followed, yet with not more success then the first attack. 

Pure air, insulted the Lungs of the Warrior, as he opened his mouth, exposing the sharp filed teeth in his mouth. He aimed for the throat, and then would taste blood. 

Raising from the body, he could hear a voice next to him, and as he turned his bloodied head, the Warrior looked at a Cowering figure, wearing the Uniform of his hated enemy. [b]"I...i Surrender! Please...for the love of good..."[/b] The warrior glared, then took a step forward, towards the shivering Body. [b]"Rejoice, for you shall be part of his Kingdom! Your corpse shall be a part of his great plan!"[/b] 

[hr]

Stepping onto the roof of the building, the two heads in his hands felt heavy, yet he would not give up his trophies. The air was ripe with Blood and death, and the Warrior could see the night sky filled with fire, as  the Ruins burned around them. Turning his head, he could see the stripe of death, the Cults armies were cutting into the land, unleashing the fury of the Monolith onto the world. Vermilion had fallen, yet it was only the beginning! 

A creeping pain filled the warriors chest, as he once more had to remove is rebreather to spit out the blood filling his mouth. No human lungs were pure enough, to host the divine Miasma! Breathing heavy, he glared it the night Sky, a grin on his face. The war, the all had been prayed for, had finally been unleashed!