NationStates Jolt Archive

I walked through the ash covered streets with my hands shielding my mouth. The particles in the air fill my lungs and cause me to hack and cough voilently, so hard that I feel like my innards are trying to jump free from inside me. My clothes were torn away as the buildings came tumbling down, and my feet are mere shreds of flesh from walking across the field of broken glass that lay everywhere. Destruction.

It had been only a few days since the shelling stopped, and after I emerged from the shelter I found that the Apocalypse had occured all around me. The sun had fallen through the black clouds, and the orange glow of the numerous raging fires was the only source of light. The further I walked the more I noticed the change of smell. My nostrils first detected gasoline and burning matter, then the sickening sweet stench of death and rotting flesh.

The piles of bodies were awe inspiring. Stacked so high they were literal mountains, it was nearly impossible to tell that these were once people, save for the lifeless faces that starred out at me. I turned my face and vomited on the broken concrete, my eyes tearing up as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I continued walking towards a destination that even I wasn't sure of, and the more I walked the more horrors I saw. Parts of human bodies were hanging from light posts and tre branches. Packs of wild dogs tore the motionless corpses to pieces before devouring everything that lay before them. Large flocks of ravens and vultures circled overhead, their eerie cries causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end.

In the shadows I saw movement by beings that were not of this world. Perhaps it was my mind playing tricks on me, or perhaps the flood gates of Hell had spilled forth, unleashing more terror upon those that had survived. 'Twas not my mind after all. As I continuned my trip down what was once South Street towards my home, I noticed a group of headless children playing in the street. I stopped dead in my tracks, hoping that they would not notice me, but as my feet came to a halt they turned towards me slowly. A horrible moaning sound came from the gaping holes where their little heads once sat, and with tears pouring down my face I took off running as they began spitting bile and gore in my path. The tattered skin on my feet had fallen away, and the vile fluids the children had spat forth stung and caused my toes to curl.

Finally, I had made it home. As I walked towards the front door I noticed that there was a figure in the window, behind the curtains. The wooden door slowly opened, but instead of my loving mother greeting me, a horrible abomination of the woman that gave birth to me stepped forward. Her eyes had been torn away, and judging from the membrane on her fingers I concluded that she had done it herself. Her jawbone was disconnected on the left side causing drool to pour down her face as her tongue flopped around voilently against her chin. She twitched and jerked as she walked towards me, her moans barely audible over the cracking of her bones that were sticking out from her skin.

I turned and ran, horrified by what had happened to my town. But then I paused for a second.....had this happened to just my town? Was it like this elsewhere? Had the whole world as I knew it ended? As I sat beneath a burned oak tree I saw a figure approach through the fire. A tall man he was, his flowing cape giving him an almost supernatural aura. He stopped several yards from me, shawdows shielding his face. As I looked on with uncertainty he began laughing at me...an insane laugh, a wicked and evil laugh.

The steel was cold as it met my flesh, and with my last bit of life I looked up at him after my head had stopped rolling across the dirt.

Darkness now....nothing more....

**********************

Damien arose from his chambers on board his flagship, the Mouth for War. There was always an errie stigma about the ship, the dark clouds that lingered in the atmosphere above it. As the great war against Automagfreek continued to rage, Damien felt his Third Eye begin to open yet again. Great visions of horror he did see, and the tale of a tormented man in the wake of an Apocalypse echoed through his head.

Indeed the Fire Walker was him, stepping forth from the billowing flames and smiting the ruin of a man where he lay. But there was greater meaning to the vision...were the burning lands his, or that of his foes? Surely the old crone from Pantera would know for certain, but she was never direct with her prophecies and would be of no help to him.

Surely this is not what will come to pass in Automagfreek. We are more prepared now than we have ever been. Our military is at its pinnacle. Our allies are stronger than ever. The Gods favor us....

Well, not all the Gods. They were quite annoyed with Damien's defiance of their will, and his inability to disconnect from the Realm of the Living. But there was one being that showed Damien good fortune no matter what the situation...the Corpse God.

Suddenly an idea came to Dreadfire, an idea that if not properly executed could land him in the deepest chasms of Hell for all eternity.....

Could the Corpse God be summoned?

Tag

This sounds like it is going to come out as a nice RP. Tag. I know I should use forum tools to subscribe, but I can't help myself. :) Sorry.

T to the A to the G

To summon a God.. He thought to himself. ...impossible. There are forces that prevent such beings from crossing realms.

But then he remembered the time that a lone priest sacrificed his soul to pull Damien back into the Realm of the Living. But sadly that priest was the last known being on Earth that possessed the skill required to pull off such a task. But surely there must be at least one more out there who has the knowledge....

Damien walked about on the deck of his masssive flagship, deep in thought as the choppy seas sprayed a cool mist of salt water against his face. The sun was dying in the night sky, casting its fading colors upon the horizon and giving the impression that for that moment, all was right in the world. This almost borders on sheer stupidity...

But then the light began to fade, at least in Damien's mind it did.

That snide laughter began to build in his ears again....that of The Destroyer. Cursed wretch you are, Dreadfire. I have another task for you, and before you begin second guessing yourself, it was I that implanted the idea in your head.

Dreadfire snarled as he turned his head to the side in disgust, wishing that the vile infestation inside his mind would go away. You are to sail immediately to the Forbidden Isle, and there... Damien immediately scoffed aloud and retreated to the stern of the ship where nobody could hear him. Bullshit. You want me to sail away while on the eve of battle, and leave my men to fight without their leader? Certainly not, and I will NOT sail to the Forbidden Isle under any circumstance. I understand that I am no ordinary mortal, but THAT is one place where even I could not survive.

The Destroyer's voice grew silent for a moment, before rising up and booming so loud that it nearly gave Damien a migrane. You are in no position to make demands...boy. This enraged Dreadfire to such a degree that his face was turning red. But very well then. You will send a servant to do my work, so that the Corpse God may be raised. His glorious coming will signal the end of the world as we know it, and the decent into chaos and hysteria will begin.

Knowing that there was no other being he could trust more, Damien rolled his eyes back and whispered for The One Who Shall Remain Unnamed. Within seconds he materialized in front of Damien, bowing his head respectfully as he always did. What is your will, M'Lord?

Normally I would not ask this of you, but I have a task most dangerous. I will give you instruction before you leave, but I need you to venture to the Forbidden Isle.

The One stood motionless, his head rearing back ever so slightly, a sign that he already did not approve of Damien's idea.

Another vision had crept into Damien's mind as he slept that night, this one more real than the last. The muscles in his face twitched ever so slightly as he slipped into an even deeper sleep, the dark energies that surrounded him beginning to take over.

The barking of the guard dogs chilled me to the bone as they marched us towards the warehouse. The people in the crowd seemed like faceless beings to me, for at this point I cared only about myself and my survival. The open wounds on my face began to crust over as the winds picked up, stinging my eyes with dirt particles and causing me to recoil from the pain.

The butt of a rifle is what I felt next, greeting me like an old friend at the front door. I was knocked so silly that I fell to the ground, my surroundings spinning all around me as I began to see stars. "Get up, puke" was all I heard before the steel toe of a boot met with my ribcage, causing the air to escape from my lungs and leaving me a choking, gasping wreck.

But somehow I managed to climb to my feet, and it was at that time I noticed there were nearly half a dozen guards around me, ready to club my head into oblivion if I did not get back in line. I did not make eye contact with any of them, I simply complied and slipped back into the sea of people that were marching towards an unsure destination.

The smoke was a clear indication of things to come. The stench was overpowering, something you hear people talk about but never really understand until the stink is trapped in your nostrils. I knew exactly what it was, and I contemplated running right then and there. But wait...the guards, the dogs, the machine guns, the razor wire.....I wouldn't make it 20 feet before being either beaten, eaten, or shot to death. No, I would continue on my silent death march, praying to my God the entire time.

The quarters were cramped inside the room, and an odd looking room it was. Ceramic tiles made up the entire decor, save for vents on the floor that I eyed as my gut began to sink. Mockingly the guard uttered the words 'Sleep Now In The Fire' before slamming the doors, Damien Dreadfire's trademarked saying that when you heard it, you knew it meant your ass.

How hot the flames were as my skin bubbled and turned to ash before me. The screams were horrific, louder than the incinerator that bellowed red hot death beneath me. But I no longer cared, the smoke of burning hair and flesh had filled my lungs, and soon I would slip into a deep dark slumber for all eternity.

Dreadfire awoke wit a slight layer of sweat forming on his brow, which he wiped off with the back of his hand. The visions were getting more intense, but they still did not reveal if these acts were to be committed against Automagfreek or its enemies. He assured himself that things of this nature were never straightforward, and to drag the waters and get to the bottom of these visions, he would have to endure more.

The One had set off with a small band of Death Dealers to the Forbidden Isle, and there they would attempt to uncover one more piece to the entire puzzle...wether or not the Corpse God could be summoned to the Realm of the Living. The One was the only being in Damien's mind that could survive the mysteries of the Forbidden Isle...at least he hoped.

The small boat took to the high seas with the Lord of the Death Dealers at the helm. The boat was rocked by the heavy waves, but surprisingly was not overturned. The radio on board began to cackle as the crew braved the storm, and the voice of Damien soon filled the airwaves.

One, be cautious. We have a vessel approaching the Forbidden Isle...and it is not one of our own.

The One ignored the transmission and continued on towards the Forbidden Isle, which was now a bleak shadow on the horizon. Though the sun had been shining mere hours ago, a thick soupy cloud of gray swirled all around the island, so dense that it blocked out the sun entirely. Only the warm glow of a torch and the red eyes of the Death Dealers lit the way, and soon a bone chilling breeze began to blow in from the mainland.

The Death Dealers did not stir the slightest as the sounds of shivering leaves from palm trees on the beach eclipsed the violent crashing of the opaque waters. They scanned the deserted beach for any sign of life as the boat ran ashore.

Miles away on the Mouth for War, Damien winced slightly as his telekinetic connection with was severed, a thick sweat beginning to form on his brow. He whispered a silent prayer to the Gods to protect his friend while on the cursed island, but Dreadfire was not sure if the Gods themselves would even venture there.

The One and his fist of Death Dealers stepped off the small boat and began moving up the beach in formation, some armed with their .50 caliber machine guns and others with their hand crafted battle axes. The long overcoat of The One began to flutter as a strong gust escaped the treeline, the owls and other creatures of the night stirring ever so slightly as the band made their way up the beach. Remnants of the Allanean landing so many years ago were still there, but nothing more than a few rusted pieces of steel and various pieces of weapons.

The trees themselves seemed to have eyes, for as the group moved from off the beach and into the forest the branches seemed to reach out towards them. Certainly whatever lived on the island knew about their presense. Packs of wild dogs howled with great pain in the night air as large ravens began chattering viciously and with growing intensity.

The One suddenly came to a stop his head moving slowly from right to left, then back again. His Death Dealers also scanned the area further, trying to locate some landmark so that they could get their bearings. But every path and tree seemed identical, and the further the troop advanced, the more it began apparent that they were not actually making progress. After stopping at an all too familiar intersection in the forest, The One noticed that there were footprints in front of him...his own. Though they had been traveling in a straight line, it was if they had been running on a treadmill.

Suddenly the various haunting sounds of the night ceased all at once, causing the Death Dealers to snap to attention with their weapons drawn and ready to strike. From the darkness behind them a fine white mist began to snake around the base of the trees, rising gradually as it came towards them. The trees then began to make a horrendous cracking sound, as if they were struggling to uproot themselves. Needless to say, the group of Death Dealers took off running into the night, hoping to finally exit the maze of trees and make their way towards their destination....the center of the island.

Strange lights began to illuminate the woods as they ran from the growing fog behind them. The sounds of the night were literally crashing all around them, the gibbering of various animals, the creaking of splintering wood, and the moans of being long deceased. The fog began to increase as The One looked back over his shoulder, and to his astonishment the mist began to break apart and take form....human form.

The ground began to tremble and break away, leaving a gaping ravine behind them that was rapidly spreading towards their position. Shouting at his Death Dealers to run fast, The One glanced over at the various misty beings all around him, decomposed and with expressions of great pain on their faces. A skeletal ghost of an old man reached out and attempted to pull The One underground, but the crafty Death Dealer removed his hat, and as he did his eyes flared a burning purple. His jaw dropped down low past his neck as he drew in a deep breath and howled at the specter with such force that it dissipated.

Wicked laughs ecohoed off the trees as parts of the mist began to reform and take the shape of a giant skeletal hand. The hand reached forward and snatched up one of the Death Dealers, dragging him kicking and fighting into the endless pit that was catching up to them. The One was unsure if the soul of that Death Dealer would be able to manifest itself again inside the Tomb, but his gut told him that these beings would not allow him to escape.

Just as the troop was about to be consumed by the unholy darkness behind them, they suddenly came upon a small clearing. Nowhere near the center of the island though, but it would suffice as a temporary shelter. It appeared to be a large temple of some sorts that had seen more than its fair share of centuries. The One and his men ran inside, and immediately the chaos that followed them ceased, leaving only an eerie silence.

With their weapons still drawn, the Death Dealers began investigating their new surroundings with care. The stink of a thousand years filled their nostrils as The One lit another torch, causing a slight vacuum in the air that sounded like a great beast drawing breath. Piles of dry bones and ash lay all around them, covered in worms and spiders as if the corpses were still fresh. A large decending staircase constructed entirely of human skulls lay on the other side of the room, and with extreme caution they began to make their way through the sea of skeletal remains before them.

OOC: I'm not happy with this post at all, but it will do.