NationStates Jolt Archive

Strive for peace with acts of war, the beauty of death we all adore...

The blood thristy dogs of Automagfreek had grown quiet in the weeks following Lord Dreadfire's global decree to once and for all wipe Kraven off the face of the world for good. Many were wondering when the hammer would fall, while others had outright forgotten. But as the storm clouds overhead began to form once more, a chill crept back into the spine of mankind as the AMF juggernaut stirred once more.

The Great Hall glistened with morning dew as the sun broke over the mountains, only to be shrouded almost instantly by the black malevolence that lurked overhead. Damien himself had been withdrawn for days, leaving many to wonder what the Warlord was planning, but more importanty what he was doing.

Hartman and The One knew that he had locked himself inside Dawn's Cathedral for the past several days, studying anient texts that supposedly contained references to future events, as well as praying to the Corpse God. Dreadfire knew such an act would displease the other Lords of the Other Side, because the dead God was cursed and cast into a limbo of never ending hell. But Damien cared not for what the Gods thought or did, because they had betrayed him once before.

Kneeling at the stone alter with his eyes rolled back and hands aloft, he chanted in the forbidden tongues the incantations to summon forth the unholy energies from the Corpse God. God of death, God of war...hear my prayers. Guild my sword...direct my wrath...and let those who stand against me perish into eternal darkness at your hands.

This same ritual was repeated day after day with ceremonial sacrifices of snakes, goats, and other demonic animals. Doves were burned at the end of each prayer session to help channel the energies from the fallen God through the Other Side and into the realm of the living. But Damien was discouraged that he had not been given a sign nor spoke to by the one he had offered himself to. I am wasting my time...

Hours later he returned to the Great Hall for his long overdue briefing on Automagfreek and the world in general. Defense Minister Marv Bonesplitter was standing by with a bursting folder of information for the Warlord, but Damien gestured for the files to be removed. Give me the short version Marv, I grow tired of this bullshit every day.

Very well m'Lord. First and foremost, it seems the Kraven cells have broken down into a state of civil war, with feuding factions beginning to advance on one another. This is...

Damien cutt him off abruptly with a slight but certainly evil grin beginning to form on his face.

This is most excellent. We'll let the heathens destroy themselves and give away their locations, and once the civil war is ended, we will make our final move. I can't believe they're doing the work for us!

Damien rose from his seat, running a paw across his grizzled face. Though it will deprive me of a semi-sporting fight, we must look at the bigger picture here. We can destroy Kraven a thousand times over, but there will always be assholes and morons who flock to the Capitol Police banner. It is Father I want....it is him that I will claim as my prize.

As soon as the factions are through warring, I want a positive pinpoint on his location, and I want him siezed. I don't know or care how or what he is operating inside, it will be mine. I will place him on my mantle and makes him a display piece for all the world to see.

Ready the satellites, and get agents on the ground. I want reports with as little delay as possible. Tell them inaccuracies will result in death, but a positive ID on Father's location will see them hailed as a hero of the Empire.

Marv nodded and exited the room as Damien terminated the briefing session early, leaving only the Warlord and silence in the room. Your days are numbered, "Father". I have beaten you once, and I damn sure can do it again. There will be no long and peaceful slumber for you and your ilk, oh no. For you...Hell awaits...

Days later, the mammoth AMF warfleets around the world fell silent and still at sea, an ominous sign that the world knew was never good. Damien always had motive behind every single one of his actions, and as the eyes of the Empire once more turned towards Kraven, the hounds of Hell prepared to pounce and end the Corporation forever. Dreadfire's promises would be fulfilled, but for now the Empire would watch and wait....

Damien slipped into a peaceful slumber for the first time in days, his weary mind finally getting a chance to rest and recharge for the work that lay ahead of him. After making himself comfortable and exhaling deeply, it was only a matter of seconds before sleep took control and his subconscious came out to play. The moon was full in the cloudless night sky, casting eerie rays of white light inside his room that flickered like a candle as the curtains fluttered in the slight breeze. Though all was still and quiet, something was amiss.

Dreadfire came to in the middle of an ancient battlefield somewhere in a boiling hot desert. He looked around frantically at the millions of corpses that surrounded him, festering and bloating in the excruciating heat the midday sun produced. The wilted and leathery faces of the dead soldiers still carried a hint of the horrors that they had witnessed in their final moments, casting a sense of complete dread in Damien's black heart. He drew the Relic's Sword and continued scanning the field of decaying corpses in hopes that he would find something...or someone.

As he was about to give up his eyes spotted what appeared to be a small structure in the distance, sitting atop a large dune a mile or two away. Damien started off towards the building as a sudden wind kicked up, carrying a veil of sand and the putrid stench of rot into the air. He shielded his eyes with his left hand as best he could, but he was not able to protect himself from the blasting of the grains of sand that tore at his face and irritated his lungs. After a half mile walk through the littered bodies the sun began to withdraw behind and ominous set of clouds that had materialized from seemingly nowhere. And then it began to pour.

But it was not rain, it was a torrent of blood that flowed down from a lacerated sky. The bright sky blue magnificence was almost instantly replaced with a hue of deep crimson, and as the landscape around him began to shift, he heard a deep groan pierce the air. The bodies around him were beginning to stir, their decomposed extremeties becoming animated once more and began reaching towards Dreadfire. Though he was tired from a difficult walk, he took off at a near sprint towards the stone building that was now a stone's throw away.

As the boney hand of a skeletal soldier grabbed ahold of his leg, Damien unleashed a roar and swung the Relic's Sword downward and removed the assaulting limb. But the body it was attached to did not falter or flinch in the slightest, but instead continued to try and rise to its feet. Dreadfire looked over his shoulder as he set foot inside the stone doorway, and to his horror the entire field of corpses was beginning to rise. He knew that he would not be able to fight them all, even with the essence of The Destroyer still inside his body.

He slammed closed the stone doors and put the barricade in its place, gasping for air as he attempted to gather himself after what he had just saw. But something inside the building beckoned him forward, and upon closer inspection he determined that he was inside some kind of temple. Carvings of the Corpse God and his binding lined the right and left walls, and instantly he knew where he was.

Daaaammmmiiiieeennnn...

A raspy voice called out to him. But The Destroyer was quick to respond, filling Damien's head with words of encouragement, telling him to ignore the voice and leave this place. But the Warlord refused, and he moved forward towards the stone altar that was illuminated by burning torches on both sides. As he stepped forward the ground began to tremble, and a shadow filled the corner begind the stone slab. Damien clasped the Relic's Sword as tight as he could, readying himself for combat should a foe rise to challenge him.

In your prayers and dreams you have called out to me Dreadfire. You are the scourge of mankind, the destroyer of worlds, and the bringer of sorrow. Men tremble at your presense and women weep as you pass by, while the Gods stare at you in envy. That's right Damien, I have come to you...

A limping hulk then revealed himself from the corner, and it was a sight so vile that it nearly made the Warlord himself sick to his stomach. Crawling in maggots and buzzing with flies, the half rotten giant slumped towards him, his juicy flesh squishing on the stone floor with each step. His skin was composed of the dead faces of a hundred men, sown together with human hair and bursting at the seams with a putrid pile of milky white rotten mass. The smell was utterly disgusting.

Who are you? Called Dreadfire, his courage untainted even in the face of such monstrosity.

You know me well my son, you have beckoned me forth for days now.... A slight chuckle escaped him as Damien's mind took a second for the realization to set in...

..it was the Corpse God.

Why have you come to me here, in this place?

The Corpse God limped forward towards the door, opening it slowly and motioning Dreadfire to follow him. You see these once glorious men? These are the bodies of every man you have ever killed in your lifetime. Every tortured soldier, every butchered child, every ravaged civilian. They have been waiting for you Damien, because the time has come for you to become something much more than what you are.

The Corpse God reached into Damien's chest and forcibly removed The Destroyer, causing Dreadfire to scream out in agony as the tall and painfully thin demon was freed from his soul and cast into the Underworld. Now that you are rid of this corruption, the time has come for you to take up your mantle and discover your true purpose. These people you see here before you follow you Dreadfire, they wait for the day your flesh fails and you join their ranks. But you and I both know that is no easy task, for you have defied death once already....an act that damned your soul by the very Gods you once worshipped.

He extended a rotten hand and gestured aross the grotesque landscape before darkness began to fall. Do my bidding now, son of perdition, hatred of mankind, bringer of death. You are mine now....and I am yours. And the billions of dead souls all around you are with you as well, for now that you are my servant I will channel their energies into you.....

A clap of thunder woke Dreadfire from his slumber, a heavy veil of cold sweat masking his bald head and face. He sat motionless in bed and tried to make sense of what just happened. Was it a dream, or was it the beginning of a new tirade of destruction?

Rising from his bed, Dreadfire began making his way across the cold stone slabs that made up his chamber floors. The room temperature had dropped to an unusual level, causing heat impressions of his large footprints to linger with each step as well as filling the air with a dense fog with each exhale. Something was amiss, and the Warlord could not feel the watchful presence of The One near him....

As he slowly opened his large chambers doors, he felt as if a spiritual entity passed through his body. Instantly the wind was knocked from his lungs, and he collapsed to his knees as he frantically gasped for breath. But then, out of the corner of his eyes he saw a shadowy figure round the corner several yards down the hallway. The servants had turned in for the night, and the guards on duty were not present in Damien's wing, leaving only Dreadfire alone with whatever 'guest' he had.

Taking up a dagger and a flashlight, he began to tail the dark figure as it slinked along the hallways and cast its black outline across the floor. Dreadfire's red eyes began to burn with rage as he ran at full speed, trying desperately to apprehend the intruder and beat an explanation out of him. But as he rounded the corner from one corridor to the next, the trail mysteriously ended. The faint footprints on the still icy floor had lead nowhere...that was until Damien did a double take. The footprints had continued down the hallway...but they were now moving across the left wall as if it were the ground.

Taking off in full sprint once more, the Warlord struggled to keep up as the prints began to vanish into the night air. But then in an instant they ceased, appearing to have disappeared behind a section of wall near a ceremonial suit of armor that was on display. Dreadfire examined the whole site, even going as far as to forcibly lift the entire display that the suit sat atop, and as he did he heard the wall shift slightly.

Having triggered a hidden switch that even he knew nothing about, he watched in awe as a several foot wide section of stone slid slowly off the the side, while a gust of stale air followed. The stench of a thousand years burned the nostrils of Damien as he scrambled to shield his face from the aweful cloud of putrid wind as it flowed into the hallway. After the smell had subsides, he peered into the black space before him and contemplated his next move, though he was almost dead sure that no danger lurked inside.

Once a second or two passed, he walked without hesitation into the chamber and scanned the entire area with his flashlight. Seeing some torches nearby, Damien moved towards them and ignited the first one after a brief search for his pipe lighter. As the warm glow of the fire engulfed the torch and filled that section of the room with brilliant light, he noticed that there were several more lined along both sides of the room.

After setting each individual one ablaze, the very breath in Dreadfire's lungs escaped him as he turned towards the center of the room. A large oak table stood right in the middle, with a dozen highback chairs surrounding it. Sitting at the table were the skeletal remains of of what appeared to be some ancient order or brotherhood, and signs of demonic ritual could be seen everywhere. Symbols of the Demon God and his minions were carved into the table, and a large black book sat atop a stand made from human skulls.

Damien was absolutely perplexed, and prepared himself for a long night of investigating. What unwordly activities had this council of dead men been performing in their final minutes?