[[AN.HONEST.TRUTH.cmd]] [[SHOW? Y/No no no no you get to see this kiddo]]
[[SOURCE: Hollvania CCTV ohIcangiveyoualotmorethenthat LOOKTHOUGHTHEEYESOFHOWISEEIT]]
[[ARCHIVAL DATE: December 30th Loop 6]]
[[ORIGIN:]]
[[Hollvanian CCTV on main streetttttt-seriously kiddo? You don’t need this.]]
[[VISUAL FEED: AVAILABLE]] [[SHOW? Y/N]]
[[WARNING: KANDEROS SYSTEM LOGS DETECTS HEAVY VOID CORRUPTION. DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE? Y/N]]
[[BRAVE CHOICE KIDDO]]
The street is bloodied, its cobblestones run with the blood of the deluded valiant men and women of the Scaldra. They are cut down not by the Hex or a Warframe but a man-a drifter they call him. No. Less than a man now. For void energy runs through his veins like liquid fire and seemingly burns him from the inside out.
His hands are shaking, trembling but not with the cold of winter biting at his exposed skin. But instead trembles with barely held back hate. Hate. Hate. HATE. That seems to crawl up his spine and pollute his vision. He has to blink the spots out of his eyes, he needs to focus. He needs to focus, give meaning to this ceaseless need, to this gnawing hate that threatens to take him wholesale. He promised to take out Viktor but he doesn’t even know what street he’s on much less where the bastard is.
He looks behind him, sees the trail of Scaldra bodies that he has left in his wake. Tens of dead, maybe hundreds it’s hard to count when it seems there is a THUNDERING IN YOUR SKIN SKULL AND MIND in his wake lay littered in the snow behind him. If the blood was not pounding in his ears like a war drum OR MAYBE IT IS MAYBE IT IS THE DRUMS OF WAR SUMMONING HIM HOME he would hear the crackling of broken APCS and radios crying out for updates. He cannot hear them though. And so he forces himself to walk to move, staggering.
Then he falls, not out of physical pain. No one has shot him, no one hand the chance he made sure of that. He collapses on hands and knees, hands clutching his head. The drumming is getting louder, he can hear the drums again it is not just his blood and his heart.
DUVIRI CALLS DEMANDS ITS PRODIGAL SONS PRISONERS HOME TO HEEL
He clutches his head, gasping, groaning and nearly roaring in delirious pain. He feels blood running down his fingers. But he does not bleed crimson. He knows he should be, he’s bled it before on nearly every other occasion but not here. Here it seems intermingled with void, bleeding a sliver of that accursed substance that every drifter possess even if only a little.
He looks at his prosthetic hand, sees the blood and the not blood curl around fingers that are not his. He mutters something, a prayer perhaps one for salvation against this? Or maybe he is begging to be saved by his brothers. Brothers who will not be coming. LANIUS LOST TO HIS RAGE. TAURON LOSES UPON INSTINCT. KRUSTEN CARRIES ON WITH NO HEED FOR SURVIVAL. MICHEAL’S MEMORY SLIPS LIKE SAND. REINER CONSUMED BY GRIEF UNENDING. ONLY THE CAPTAIN’S SON SURVIVES BUT NOT UNSCATHED. DO YOU REALLY THINK THEY’RE COMING KIDDO?
He doubles over in pain, head slamming into the snowy cobblestones. He cannot keep his mind straight, not with the pounding of drums in his ears. He doesn’t hear the latest patrol of Scaldra close near. Doesn’t even see them he is blind in his rage. They level their guns at him, safer that way they can see the trail he’s left in his wake.
One of them, a sergeant maybe or perhaps a rookie on his first patrol it’s hard to tell, speaks the words that will damn all here to a fate worse then death.
<<Viktor, I think we got him.>>
In the moment it takes to think to breath, it happens. The man is gone. The drifter disappears in a grinding of steel and roar of sheer HATE. Warframes are elegant. Protoframes still human. This creature, this thing THING THING BECAUSE NOTHING ELSE FITS lashes out. On its first swing with an outstretched claw it disembowls the first man and kicks back the radio operator with a sickening crack.
IT RISES IT RISES what was once Venahn rises a monster much worse then any wyrm or Techrot abomination. What lurches is something terrible, something worse and borne in terrible nightmares and pain visions of a man failed. It stands not tall like a proud warrior Thrax as maybe one would expect from the realm of Duviri but instead lurched like a wounded yet terrifying beast that refused to die. Even so it stands taller than the Scaldra could ever hope to be. A head taller at the very least. Weapons have been driven through its chest and into its armoured back, spears, swords, axes and a variety of other weapons make its back into an armoured hide that bristles with countless deaths. It’s right arm is gone, instead its arm is replaced with a ghostly void light arm that shimmers and gleams with the coalesced light of the void. Occasionally parts of the arm shift, its surface becoming void metal before disappearing back into the swirling void light. It’s left leg is not a foot but instead a jagged hook where a foot should be but isn’t. Armour that was once a burnished gold of the Dax is now scorched and broken black. Mangled and chewed up armour and trophies from countless battles makes a crude almost whip like tail that seems to hold a life of its own, skittering and whipping wildly in the cold air. The maw and head of the beast looks less like a helmet and more the draconic skeletal head of a creature not of this realm. And it isn’t of this realm. It never could be. Duviri gave this monster form. Let it fester in its arena and turned the failed Dax into a weapon. Carved off all the useless pieces until there was nothing left but the knife. THIS IS YOUR HERO KIDDO
And the creature lunges forwards with a hate filled roar. Before anyone can put a terrified word to their lieutenant, they’re ripped apart. The APC rounds the corners, sees what has happened and immediately opens fire. The creature pulls a weapon through its back, a spear and hurls it with the force of an artillery cannon. It practically pins the APC to the nearest wall as it stalks forwards. The driver and gunner are dead on impact, radios still crackling with questions. It reaches forwards, attempting to seize the radio before it stops. Then hits the ground with a seizing roar and a sound of a man trying to hold on ONE FINAL GIFT TO YOUR FAMILY NOW HM? NO ONE CAN SAVE YOU KIDDO.
THE ARENA AWAITS
And he is gone in a roar of a void light and energy that reverberates on itself. Dragging itself out of reality to maybe spare someone.