The Creed of Eternal Darkness

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 The Wastelands

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Kain Reaver

Posts : 697
Join date : 2010-10-02
Age : 35
Location : With my beloved wife, where I belong. ^^

PostThe Wastelands

Open areas of devastated wasteland mark the trials and errors of the remaining populace trying to recover what was lost a long time ago. Mutated creatures spot the wasteland, scavaging for bits of food or what little of it remains to be found.
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Re: The Wastelands
Post on Tue Nov 08, 2011 9:58 am  Kain Reaver
Roland stood over his battery victim, chest heaving in and out from the exerted force needed to violently brutalize the mutant to death. The skull was bashed in, disfiguring and distorting the previous appearance. Blood seeped from the face's orifices. A ghastly sight indeed.

The weapon dropped to the ground as Jr's mind reeled on what just occured. He was lucky to have grabbed the sledgehammer and pound it into the mutant's temple and causing it to fall to the ground beside him. The resulting beating was obvious after that point.

Roland didn't waste any time. He was efficient in his movements, reacquiring his weapons from the dirt ground and reloading them before continuing. His good deed for the day was the action of lowering the roasting human into the roaring fire to be cremated. He gave a solemn salute to the burning body, wishing it godspeed in its otherworldly ventures.

Once more he was off, seeing nothing of value or use in this camp. He won't soon forget this encounter, and decided that stealth was going to be more prominent in his future encounters for the rest of the day.
Re: The Wastelands
Post on Tue Nov 08, 2011 9:46 am  Kain Reaver
With finesse, the shotgun was pulled and aimed towards the propelling limb of the nearest attacker.

BOOOOM!!!! Click clack! BOOOOOM!!!! Click clack!

Screaming in outright pain, the mutant fell to the ground as the kneecap exploded. Blood splattered across the ground.

The second mutant approached quickly, sledgehammer poised to crush Jr's skull. A skilled crouch and twirl of his body executed an effective dodge. With the same twirl, he unsheathed his combat knife and shoved the sharp object into the side of the mutant. A cry of pain confirmed the attack, but the forearm of the mutant swung through the air and slammed Jr smack dab in the chest, sending him flying a few feet away.

Jr slid on the ground on his back, then quickly stumbled to his feet, unholstering the sidearm from his thigh. Several shots rang through the air, penetrating the target's skin. Roland charged and grabbed his knife protruding from the mutant's side, then slashed the assailant's leg. With the same movement, the gun barrel pressed upon the lower spinal cord of the freak of nature, and a bullet severed the connection of nerves. It instantly became a parapelegic (sp?).

Swiftly, Roland turned to the other mutant who was already back on one leg and hopping towards Roland. A few more shots from his sidearm were enough to bring it down when a bullet or two penetrated the eye sockets. With a thud, it fell and never got back up.

A pain wracked Jr's body as a sledgehammer met his back. He fell face first into the ground. He turned as quickly as his attacker could crawl on top of him, and pin him down. Growling with twisted intentions, the slobber from the mutant's malicious maw dripped all over Roland's face as a struggle for survival ensued. Jr dug his forearm into the beast's neck, struggling to keep the sadistic jaws from clamping over his face. The mutant was strong. Incredibly strong. The force pressed down on Roland's shoulder caused it to dig into the ground.

Rancid breath violated Jr's nostrils, the disgustingly dripping orifice spiked the fear of death in his fight for his life. He couldn't find his sidearm or the combat knife. He struggled to locate something, anything that he could get his hands on.

The sledgehammer's maul met that of the unfortunate skull, and the remaining life was beat out of its shell until it existed no more.
Re: The Wastelands
Post on Tue Nov 08, 2011 9:20 am  Kain Reaver
Desolate was the wasteland. Creatures roamed freely. Some more hostile than others. The food chain was as clearly present as the shrouding clouds in the sky, casting bouts of darkness that spotted the wilderness. Death was imminent for those who failed to survive, for those who did not carefully keep an eye on their surrounding environment at all times.

It was second nature for Roland, having served the military for so long. He kept his head on a swivel, making sure he knew what was going on all around him all the time. When approached, some creatures took a defensive posture, warning the intruder that they were in their territory and they would die defending it. Such actions weren't unknown to Roland, and in most cases, he avoided unneccesary fights. Small game was easy to come by at times. Only the larger game was more of an immediate threat to his life. It was this he sought, for it would replenish his food supply for longer stretches of time at the risk of death.

Jr was smart in his battles. He did not waste ammo on the smaller creatures that dared attack him. Usually one bullet to the brain did the trick. But it was the bigger and badder mutants that were harder to kill.

A small pack of mutant beings were gathered around their latest kill of the day: a wasteland survivor that obviously did not survive for long. The corpse was impaled by a steel rebar which protruded from both the mouth and anus of the corpse. It was sickening to think those orifices were used in such a way, but the mutants were sadistic most of the time, and it was easier to do such a thing instead of piercing uncut skin. The human was being roasted over a large campfire, a mutant turning the kill over as to not sear the flesh too badly as one would do with rotisserie (sp?) chicken.

Proning on top of a far away boulder, the ARC suit blended with the texture of the rock, increasing the camouflage effect upon Roland and making him much harder to detect from afar. He carefully doped his scope, ensuring that each shot would be accurate upon the squeeze of the trigger. Opportune moment would present itself in which Jr will fire the deadly weapon of the scoped sniper rifle.

The shot rang out, but the mutants would first see their companion's head explode with giblets and gore before the sonic boom reached their ears. Immediate alert caused them the arm themselves, their heads snapping side to side to locate the position of the shot. But it was difficult to track the sound of certain death. They knew the general direction of the sound, but it would take another instance before Roland's security was compromised.

Another shot, and another one bites the dust. The 2 remaining mutants triangulated the sound's origin and began to rampage towards said destination. Sledgehammers and improvised rebar clubs rose in the air above their heads like a tribal display of war intent. The distance was closing quickly. Roland needed to kill both mutants to ensure his survival. But this proved difficult.

The trigger was squeezed again, a projectile sped out of the rifled barrel, rolling through the air towards its target. But the shot was a miss. The mutant had sidestepped unexpectedly. Now both mutants knew exactly where their attacker was, and an alarm rang in Roland's head. He now had to fight for his life.
Re: The Wastelands
Post on Fri Nov 04, 2011 11:05 am  Kain Reaver
The night is young, crickets chirp a solemn hymn over the roar of a campfire in the chilly night. The fire raged more as a stick poked the coals, causing embers to rise like fireflies and fade away to ash. The poking stick was set back down on the ground near the fire, the shimmering light flickering upon the faces of 3 men, tired and worn from their travels. AK-47s rested upon their backs. A stomach growled followed by a groan of hunger from one man. "Ugh. I would kill to eat right now."

"Wasn't that the point today?" replied another.

"Could've fooled me." said the third man. His head turned to the hungry one. "You sucked so bad today I'm on the verge of killing you and eating your disgusting corpse."

"Fuck you!" shouted the man, throwing the finger towards his aggressor. "I told you, I did what I could. That boar came after me. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

The 2nd man replied. "Ummm... SHOOT IT?!"

"I tried but I tripped over a log!"

The other man chimed in angrily. "Excuses excuses pendejo! We should gut you and toss your cajones in the fire cabrone."

The two men stood and began to argue in machine-gun spanish, shouting and cursing at each other. But one remained seated, just watching his comrades fight over bullshit, shaking his head as he stoked the fire once more. Nobody noticed when the back of his head exploded and his body slumped to the ground. The shouting continued as the corpse lay in a growing pool of its own blood.

Minutes passed before one of the men looked to his comrade. "Can you believe this pu..." Facial expressions gave away his fright once his gaze cast upon the inevitable horror bestowed upon him. "Madre de dios!" His friend turned to see what was being witnessed and uttered a sharp gasp of horror. Together, the men slowly approached the bleeding corpse whom eyes remained open, mouth ajar, blood oozing from the open wound in the forehead.

Horrified, both men grabbed their weapons and began to scan the vicinity for the intruder. It was then when one of them began to shout out when he stopped mid-sentence and toppled over into the roaring fire. The gaping wounds from both temples spilling blood onto the blazing coals, bubbling almost immediately. The remaining man quickly turned to witness his friend being burned before his very eyes, skin beginning to sear and char, the blood boiling. The stench of burning flesh began to fill the air, causing the last man to double over and dry vomit, heaving and gagging due to an empty stomach. What little fluids he had in him were regurgitated onto the dry ground.

After a moment's passing, he came to and gathered himself, retreating to the woods before he became the next victim to the icy cold touch of the Grim Reaper's grasp. Alas, it was too late. A blood curdling scream sliced the midnight air as his chest appeared to rupture from the inside, gore and malice splattered onto the roots of the tree a few feet in front of the dying human. He slumped to his knees, eyes completely dialated as the last remaining ounces of adrenaline surged into the bloodstream, only to exit from the gaping wound and shimmering down the body, to the ground. The last thing he remembered seeing was the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, and the ground rushing up to meet his face as the body succumbed to death.

The insect orchestra never stopped playing its falsetto masterpiece in the chilly air. For several minutes all was as quiet as possible, until the soft rustling of a nearby dead shrub disturbed the quiet. The shrub seemed to come alive, somehow moving towards the fire. The closer it came, the brighter the light. In medieval times, one would scream 'Sorcery!!'. But in this day and age, one would cast their watch and breathe a gasp of amazement as the bush 'stood' on two legs, and with a high pitched but quiet electronic whir, along with the sound of stretching leather, the bush slowly faded to a black figure of a man holding a large, scoped rifle. The face was masked as well, and the twiggy texture faded along with the rest of the body. 'Sorcery' was an understatement.

The figure stood rigid, muscular yet lean. A black vest could hardly be seen against the dark color, but was visible in the right lighting conditions. It would reveal several small pockets used to store ammo magazines and other miscellaneous items, being secured by black snap buttons. Upon the side of his right thigh, strapped a black firearm, holstered in a black holster. The mask didn't reveal the identity of the man, but it was clearly known that if such was revealed, it would be the last thing they never saw.

He walked over and with gloved fingers, checked the pulse of the two bodies who weren't shishkebab. With the same whirring and stretching sound, the glove turned beige and became 'textured' like skin after a few seconds of contact was made, and returned to its obsidian pigment seconds after contact was lost. After ensuring that life wasn't existent, the figure approached a backpack resting against a log that was used as a bench. Setting the rifle down, the figure kneeled next to the backpack, his knee and a part of his leg changing texture to match the ground beneath him after a couple of passing seconds. The pack was searched, items were almost tossed aside carelessly, as if they held no importance. Even cash was tossed on the ground. Until a small lockbox was found...

Pulling the metallic box from the pack, the glimmer of moonlight boasted the presence of a lock. Further search of the backpack gave the result of a matching key as it was inserted, twisted, and with a click, unlocked the box. Slowly, the lid was opened, and within the container sat a curious looking object cradled in a type of foam. No sound emanated from the dark figure upon this discovery, only the action of closing and relocking the box.

Standing once more, the male placed the box upon the log and began to drag the 2 unburned bodies towards the fire and the now charred body that once rested upon it. They were then dumped over the coals, letting the fire do the rest of the destruction. Without watching, the man grabbed his rifle, and the lockbox, and walked silently from whence he came, leaving the stench of burning corpses behind him.

After an hour, the bodies completely burned to ash, and were never to be seen again.
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