[UC] "The Dragon's Gaze"/"Apex Predators" Travels (Day 1-)
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Shuttered eyes beheld only the same darkness as those held open, as the creature moved, onward, ever onward. Talons cut through soil as the land warped in its wake. The air held the same unmistakable scent of rot and decay as it had since… the beginning. There was a beginning, the behemoth knew, as surely as it knew its preference for the smell of the dying rot, of its seething hatred laying below the surface, unleashed whenever minions grew close and bodies grew warm.
The wyrm had little to latch onto, as the cold had claimed it. It gripped and clung and bit into every drafty hole on the monster, causing it to gnash its teeth and strike at its tongue. The abomination felt suffocated, always. Air could not enter it, and yet it could not die.
But of course it couldn’t, it reasoned. A slow nod of its head followed, as thought entered it again.
Of course it couldn’t. It was undying. Ever-present. A thing as eternal and primal as any in the universe, and it could not be undone by any in existence.
A creature caught its attention, as the darkness lifted from its eyes, a great gibbering thing. A monkey, it thought, though it knew not what kind. It lumbered forward in kind, smacking distorted cymbals together. The monkey smacked its metal discuses together, and the thought occurred to him of how humorously futile it was. The weapons were not brass, but something else, and made little more than the sound of metal gnashing against metal. It made no music, and caused the little creature’s hands to bleed, staining it’s padded outfit, red mixing with the whites and pinks and blues of its polkadot costume.
The realization that it was a he forced the haze to begin to clear. That was right, he realized. It had been a long time since he’d recognized himself. Since the castle… he couldn’t remember the castle, but he knew it was back then.
A scratching, nervous, at his left side. Claws ripping at his skin, once again. Like before. Blood flowed and the remnants of what could have been new skin was rent asunder, as the titan stalked forward.
Pain, he recognized. Rage, too, he recognized. What was he? Who had done this?
The scratching grew frantic— edgy, rough.
He wanted it out. He needed it out. It enveloped him, pushed him, forced him, and he knew, again, in this moment that Ridley was controlled by nothing, save himself!
The Dragon stopped again, as the monkey thing looked to him, growing close as it gnashed its metal cymbals against each other. With every strike of its useless appendages, it screamed something gibbering, unintelligible. It had no language to speak, but it knew rage. Pain. Agony.
It was so small. So very small. Ridley flicked out a talon, and, before the little monkey could react, smashed it to the ground with a single strike. It screamed violently, as though assaulted, but stopped as the Dragon’s talon was placed directly on its chest.
Why did it play so? Was it for him? He knew it must be. It was not alone, and as light returned to the Dragon’s troubled mind, he remembered he was among an army. Disgusting, slavering abominations, corrupted things. Consumed by this… whatever this was?
They had looked to him as leader, and he remembered now. The castle was left with purpose, even if he was hardly conscious of it. He planned this. This was going according to his direction, but not his goals…
The dragon’s tail swiped from side to side, its wings shadowing the land before it. The talon dug a little further into the monkey, and it now screamed, its body marked. The creature was useful. Its mock-play had kept him above the yawning darkness that had consumed him, even if unintentional.
He could kill it, he knew. Could slaughter and gnash and crush these things that followed him. But they had not done this. Something else had, far older. Something that would bow to him, just as these twisted soldiers bowed to him.
The talon slowly raised, fingers wrapping around the squalling monkey. It screamed through broken vocal cords, moving its hands erratically, until it was touched.
The dragon picked the little monkey up, all two feet of the scrabbling monster, and it grew still as a babe in the grip of its mother. In both, there was understanding.
Ridley was their leader. Their General. They would follow him to their death, to conquest in his name.
A loud, echoing roar that commanded obedience flew through the hills. It was wordless, but it did not need to have voice— the command was primal, simple, pure. It was met by the distorted screams of a myriad of nightmares, a grim cacophony of screeching terror and vice.
Ridley did not speak, for he did not need to. Instead, his wings unfurled to their full span, as his shadow grew, and an arrow formed over the land.
Ridley and his troops as one understood what this meant— the land that was shrouded beneath his wings was destined to become one with the unmade. The troops marched forth with renewed vigor, their shadows merging and mixing with his own as they moved forward, swallowing the light beneath them.
With a reptilian grin, Ridley took the monkey and inspected it as one would an antique, turning his head to the side as he inspected the little creature with one eye. Despite its injury, it looked at the dragon with adoration and respect, as a child would see its father.
The General of the Dragon’s Gaze placed the little thing on his shoulder as he stepped forward, the creature quickly finding footholds before continuing to clang its metal instruments together, the grinding metal reminding Ridley of a nostalgia his memory could not yet grasp.
The wyrm had little to latch onto, as the cold had claimed it. It gripped and clung and bit into every drafty hole on the monster, causing it to gnash its teeth and strike at its tongue. The abomination felt suffocated, always. Air could not enter it, and yet it could not die.
But of course it couldn’t, it reasoned. A slow nod of its head followed, as thought entered it again.
Of course it couldn’t. It was undying. Ever-present. A thing as eternal and primal as any in the universe, and it could not be undone by any in existence.
A creature caught its attention, as the darkness lifted from its eyes, a great gibbering thing. A monkey, it thought, though it knew not what kind. It lumbered forward in kind, smacking distorted cymbals together. The monkey smacked its metal discuses together, and the thought occurred to him of how humorously futile it was. The weapons were not brass, but something else, and made little more than the sound of metal gnashing against metal. It made no music, and caused the little creature’s hands to bleed, staining it’s padded outfit, red mixing with the whites and pinks and blues of its polkadot costume.
The realization that it was a he forced the haze to begin to clear. That was right, he realized. It had been a long time since he’d recognized himself. Since the castle… he couldn’t remember the castle, but he knew it was back then.
A scratching, nervous, at his left side. Claws ripping at his skin, once again. Like before. Blood flowed and the remnants of what could have been new skin was rent asunder, as the titan stalked forward.
Pain, he recognized. Rage, too, he recognized. What was he? Who had done this?
The scratching grew frantic— edgy, rough.
He wanted it out. He needed it out. It enveloped him, pushed him, forced him, and he knew, again, in this moment that Ridley was controlled by nothing, save himself!
The Dragon stopped again, as the monkey thing looked to him, growing close as it gnashed its metal cymbals against each other. With every strike of its useless appendages, it screamed something gibbering, unintelligible. It had no language to speak, but it knew rage. Pain. Agony.
It was so small. So very small. Ridley flicked out a talon, and, before the little monkey could react, smashed it to the ground with a single strike. It screamed violently, as though assaulted, but stopped as the Dragon’s talon was placed directly on its chest.
Why did it play so? Was it for him? He knew it must be. It was not alone, and as light returned to the Dragon’s troubled mind, he remembered he was among an army. Disgusting, slavering abominations, corrupted things. Consumed by this… whatever this was?
They had looked to him as leader, and he remembered now. The castle was left with purpose, even if he was hardly conscious of it. He planned this. This was going according to his direction, but not his goals…
The dragon’s tail swiped from side to side, its wings shadowing the land before it. The talon dug a little further into the monkey, and it now screamed, its body marked. The creature was useful. Its mock-play had kept him above the yawning darkness that had consumed him, even if unintentional.
He could kill it, he knew. Could slaughter and gnash and crush these things that followed him. But they had not done this. Something else had, far older. Something that would bow to him, just as these twisted soldiers bowed to him.
The talon slowly raised, fingers wrapping around the squalling monkey. It screamed through broken vocal cords, moving its hands erratically, until it was touched.
The dragon picked the little monkey up, all two feet of the scrabbling monster, and it grew still as a babe in the grip of its mother. In both, there was understanding.
Ridley was their leader. Their General. They would follow him to their death, to conquest in his name.
A loud, echoing roar that commanded obedience flew through the hills. It was wordless, but it did not need to have voice— the command was primal, simple, pure. It was met by the distorted screams of a myriad of nightmares, a grim cacophony of screeching terror and vice.
Ridley did not speak, for he did not need to. Instead, his wings unfurled to their full span, as his shadow grew, and an arrow formed over the land.
Ridley and his troops as one understood what this meant— the land that was shrouded beneath his wings was destined to become one with the unmade. The troops marched forth with renewed vigor, their shadows merging and mixing with his own as they moved forward, swallowing the light beneath them.
With a reptilian grin, Ridley took the monkey and inspected it as one would an antique, turning his head to the side as he inspected the little creature with one eye. Despite its injury, it looked at the dragon with adoration and respect, as a child would see its father.
The General of the Dragon’s Gaze placed the little thing on his shoulder as he stepped forward, the creature quickly finding footholds before continuing to clang its metal instruments together, the grinding metal reminding Ridley of a nostalgia his memory could not yet grasp.
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Clapping, gnashing, screeching and howling. The host made no attempt to conceal its arrival, devastation and corruption left in its wake. Black, inky puddles were left as they walked, always, their destination pre-ordained since long before. Ridley, in truth, did not want them to conceal themselves overly well.
An enemy was cautious around the unknown. They plotted around what may or may not be, decided on what could happen and wisely hedged their bets.
Those who saw the unknown yawning in front of them understood caution. It brought their delicious fear forward, but in a way they could digest.
Knowledge was meant to free them from this, and as their opponents grew in understanding, they would grow in confidence.
But knowledge can only bring one so far. And the belief in knowledge can do far less.
Ridley’s tongue sliced through the air, as he slowly licked along his exposed teeth. Black spittle fell to the ground at the thought of his destructive appetite finally being sated.
A belching noise came from beside the dragon, and the creature turned. A human, or at least, one that once was. Growths had long since consumed the eyes of this one, leaving tendrils with soft, glowing bulbs to take their place. A thick tendril extended from their mouth like a flight mask, connected to something Ridley could not see within the confines of it’s metallic power armour. An archaic design, compared to… something Ridley recalled in the fires of his soul.
“...speak.” Ridley finally spoke, the word laboriously leaving his maw, as though language felt altogether foreign.
The gibbering of madness met Ridley, but madness understood itself quite well, and the insane shrieking and gibbering could only be considered as such. What would pass for words and ravings fell into patterns and lines incomprehensible to the average man within Ridley's mind and became as comprehensible as pig latin to the ancient wyrm.
And what was said brought a smile to the Dragon’s face. Did they assume he would falter? Run? Await whatever plans they had laid out just for him?
The old Reptiles eyes narrowed to a mirthful leer. It didn’t matter what they’d thought, he supposed. Before they could think of a plan, they would become his, or they would become decorations for his throne.
Turning with a Grin towards his troops, something reminded him of this moment…
With a distorted voice, he instructed them.
The dragon’s screech rose across the troops, and the army halted its march, if only for a moment. The wave washed through the desolation they’d left in their wake and reached every ear in the army.
Then, The screaming and howling of the damned followed, rising as one voice. Regardless of origin, reason, or personal conceit, all felt the primal power in the Unmade Pirate Generals voice, and all understood.
To slaughter, to corrupt, to break or unmake. The day would see blood.
Face to Face
"The Dragon's Gaze" vs Spies
"The Dragon's Gaze" vs Spies
There was a commotion at the edge of the Unmade camp.
General Ridley’s focus turned away from the shuddering human who had elected to come forth from the bang of vagrants to 'plead their case' to be allowed safe passage through this region of the rainforest. Ridley, knowing full well that they were close to this island's prize, would not play the role of the fool today. The dragon sneered as it stepped outside and stared to where the huddled masses remained, their eyes glued across the assortment of unmade soldiers who stood statue still.
“Where is Steve?” One of them inquired with a slight… tone in his voice. Before the man received a response, a more immediate shadow fell upon him—that of a hulking corrupted dog the size of an RV. Red Dog, its flesh pocked with patches of seething corruption and skinless in other regions, bore an expression that was far too intelligent to belong to some senseless hulk.
“Your friend’s fate is your own,” the massive, unmade canine intoned before lashing out and disemboweling the refugee with a single gnash of its hungering jaws. As blood and viscera poured hot from the wound, a pistol secured under the man’s rags likewise clattered to the ground. “Ready them all to join the unclean host!” Red Dog bellowed before throwing his head back in a bone-chilling howl that could be heard all the way at the base camp of the spies.
The Hell Divers drew a litany of concealed weapons as the army of unmade soldiers seemed to click to life, turning at once from almost inert statues into beasts born straight from the nightmares of a child’s overactive imagination.
Energized rounds and katchin-infused steel echoed throughout the rainforest, but for as fearsome as the fighting had been, it was over soon enough. Some of the spies who had been broken turned their weapons upon themselves, but there were many who weren’t so lucky.
36 of the Hell Diver Spies have been killed or killed themselves.
10 have been captured – destined to be tortured and eventually Unmade.
4 escaped back to their General
5 Unmade soldiers were fatally wounded
10 have been captured – destined to be tortured and eventually Unmade.
4 escaped back to their General
5 Unmade soldiers were fatally wounded
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The unmade created a darkened trail across every patch of land they walked upon. The land broke, and the soil buckled and dehydrated. The stolen vitality brought a certain animalistic pleasure to every single unmade soldier as they kept moving, but it only stirred a craving for more.
Ridley felt it in his bones, as deeply as when Darkseid had first taken him into his grasp, ripped him to shreds from the inside out, and recreated him as a Child’s nightmare. Though he’d grown to control it, had kept his uncontrolled lapses to a minimum, he understood the cold now, far better than he had before. Something in him was twisted, muted, gone.
He hungered to make more such as himself, more people, more places. Everything that the light touches bore the ashen taste of foreign soil.
It was the closest thing Ridley could approximate to loneliness, having never felt such a thing himself. The aching need for others to see things as they did, so they could spare themselves the agony of looking at their unsoiled bodies.
The old bird was not familiar with such introspection, but the past days had given him compelling motivation to learn. Ridley was an insatiable monster and a sadistic killer, but that gleam of intelligence was always focused towards survival in the end. Controlling this curse would give him that survival. He was far too proud of his own capacities to simply be driven by it like some vehicle, but the bloodlust, the sadistic glee, the hunger it offered…
Tools, and ones he would happily show his foes the moment they showed their disgusting faces, but nothing more.
The sound of his clownish simian clapping metal together brought him out of his self-attention, and away from the carcass he was currently feasting on, pulling the rotted flesh down as he observed a lithe figure approach him, unannounced.
“You interrupt my meal.”
“I’ll leave you to your caloric intake in a moment, general, so tell me…” the sickly green woman offered. Another offensively augmented creature, filled with psionic power, and still choosing the rough shape of a simple mammal. The thought would have made Ridley retch if his hunger was not so great.
“What is your goal, going on this little expedition?”
Ridley’s eyes narrowed.
“To consume them by the hundreds.” The Dragon responded, weighing and placing each word carefully, slowly. “Does your memory fail, snake woman?”
The infested Terran gave a smile before shaking her head.
“The unmaking hasn’t taken that from me yet, general Ridley. No, I don’t ask about that.”
“Then continue.”
“The clown seems to be happy sitting in his castle and gorging every day, does he not? I can’t imagine that sits well with you.”
Ridley’s eye turned to leer at the woman. “That thing is commanded to serve by Lord Darkseid, as are you.”
“But is his command really in Lord Darkseids best interests?” Kerrigan would reply, before the dakes head turned and came ever so close to Kerrigan's own, one eye focused closely on the snake woman.
“Should you decide to play these games, do so after IT fails. We are not like these tattered marines, these pretend soldiers in dress uniforms. We are the unmade. We will consume all in our path.” Ridley responded, his tail lashing back and forth as muscles tensed, ready, should he need to remind this one.
“Of course, of course.” Snake lady relented with the amused tone of a cat who’d successfully rattled a bird. “And what if It fails? Will you surrender to these interlopers?”
Ridley’s eye blinked, as he started to move. “Should it be with an army at my back or not, every one of them will be dead by the end of this island.”
“For Lord Darkseid?”
The Dragon gave a chuckle, a hollow, grating thing that gave no joy to any but its owner… and a half-dead, half-undead simian gleefully screeching its little lungs out in response.
“For Lord Ridley.”
Ridley felt it in his bones, as deeply as when Darkseid had first taken him into his grasp, ripped him to shreds from the inside out, and recreated him as a Child’s nightmare. Though he’d grown to control it, had kept his uncontrolled lapses to a minimum, he understood the cold now, far better than he had before. Something in him was twisted, muted, gone.
He hungered to make more such as himself, more people, more places. Everything that the light touches bore the ashen taste of foreign soil.
It was the closest thing Ridley could approximate to loneliness, having never felt such a thing himself. The aching need for others to see things as they did, so they could spare themselves the agony of looking at their unsoiled bodies.
The old bird was not familiar with such introspection, but the past days had given him compelling motivation to learn. Ridley was an insatiable monster and a sadistic killer, but that gleam of intelligence was always focused towards survival in the end. Controlling this curse would give him that survival. He was far too proud of his own capacities to simply be driven by it like some vehicle, but the bloodlust, the sadistic glee, the hunger it offered…
Tools, and ones he would happily show his foes the moment they showed their disgusting faces, but nothing more.
The sound of his clownish simian clapping metal together brought him out of his self-attention, and away from the carcass he was currently feasting on, pulling the rotted flesh down as he observed a lithe figure approach him, unannounced.
“You interrupt my meal.”
“I’ll leave you to your caloric intake in a moment, general, so tell me…” the sickly green woman offered. Another offensively augmented creature, filled with psionic power, and still choosing the rough shape of a simple mammal. The thought would have made Ridley retch if his hunger was not so great.
“What is your goal, going on this little expedition?”
Ridley’s eyes narrowed.
“To consume them by the hundreds.” The Dragon responded, weighing and placing each word carefully, slowly. “Does your memory fail, snake woman?”
The infested Terran gave a smile before shaking her head.
“The unmaking hasn’t taken that from me yet, general Ridley. No, I don’t ask about that.”
“Then continue.”
“The clown seems to be happy sitting in his castle and gorging every day, does he not? I can’t imagine that sits well with you.”
Ridley’s eye turned to leer at the woman. “That thing is commanded to serve by Lord Darkseid, as are you.”
“But is his command really in Lord Darkseids best interests?” Kerrigan would reply, before the dakes head turned and came ever so close to Kerrigan's own, one eye focused closely on the snake woman.
“Should you decide to play these games, do so after IT fails. We are not like these tattered marines, these pretend soldiers in dress uniforms. We are the unmade. We will consume all in our path.” Ridley responded, his tail lashing back and forth as muscles tensed, ready, should he need to remind this one.
“Of course, of course.” Snake lady relented with the amused tone of a cat who’d successfully rattled a bird. “And what if It fails? Will you surrender to these interlopers?”
Ridley’s eye blinked, as he started to move. “Should it be with an army at my back or not, every one of them will be dead by the end of this island.”
“For Lord Darkseid?”
The Dragon gave a chuckle, a hollow, grating thing that gave no joy to any but its owner… and a half-dead, half-undead simian gleefully screeching its little lungs out in response.
“For Lord Ridley.”
Face to Face
Withering Fire!
Withering Fire!
General Ridley scowled as the remnants of his army drew closer to their border. He paused near the top of a hill and scanned as far as he could with a primitive piece of technology that magnified his field of vision.
Something brought the general pause as he approached from the east.
“What’s the matter, General?” The Urban Lich inquired.
“When did Pennywise repair Pandaemonium?” The space pirate asked as he lowered the tech and scowled.
“I wouldn’t have any idea,” the reanimated corpse required as Ridley saw the twinkle of yellow and orange on the horizon.
Eyes now wide, Ridley bared his teeth as he turned to his soldiers. “Enemy fire! Go to cover!”
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Chanting, screaming, sizzling flame and whirring blades surrounded the Unmade General, as the camp took a hesitant break. Blood seeped from the vicious wound that had split the Space Pirate general from stomach to collar. The two iron bands the General had ordered forced into his skin to hold his emaciated form together had been ripped out just as quickly, when the permanent solution had been built.
Holes in his body, and neck, a shredded wing, and the Witstealer’s gash refused to stop bleeding. It was easier to name what the Space Dragon wasn’t bleeding from. Many would be dead from this level of injury, but Ridley was no mere mortal - his eyes kept their glare, a red sheen added into it as Darkseid’s corruption worked its way through his mind.
The Doom Slayer
The name came unbidden to Ridley, off some ephemeral astral wind. Lord Darkseid, or the clown. It forced him to know his name. Just as arrogant and putrid as the hunter he’d once battled across the galaxy.
The Apex Predator had grown too confident in his allies, it appeared. The infested had died a grisly death elsewhere, for all her scheming. The ridiculous glob of putty had found its match. Dresden’s embrace of the chaos in his mind hadn’t amounted to more than a loss of his arms, and the rhyming, haughty magician died to a teenaged runt wearing armour too big for him.
He felt rage at the Helldivers for bringing their filthy weapons to bear against his carnival, and rage against the Lieutenants who’d had the indignity to fall under his banner. Had Pennywise sent him a group of weaklings?!
The Dragon gave a growl of rage at the thought. It was drowned out by the machines that were wheeled forward. The menagerie of equipment was mixed with drills and saws and various implements of spiteful magic that the Space Pirate had no understanding of.
The Slayer…
Everything had fallen from the General’s grasp, all due to the Slayer!
Rage boiled, as his men lowered the first piece - a chestplate, still cherry red from the forge. covered in eldritch symbols and filled with a series of holes - places to drive in the screws. It was the first piece of many, jagged iron covered with cables and arcane runes. Much of it was unnecessary to simply hold the dragon, but experimental additions - a product of the unnaturally sadistic curiosity of even the most medically minded in the carnival.
It didn’t matter to Ridley. The restraints were put on as they lowered the Darksteel Carapace and the molten-hot bolts were readied. The Dragon’s agitation grew as a spiderlike apparatus slowly lowered it, inch by inch.
“Don’t waste my time!” the Dragon snapped. “Faster!”
Ridley knew well the maelstrom of pain he’d endure as the super-heated metal was fused to his flesh, but the dragon couldn’t have cared less. His mind was focused elsewhere. This was a stepping stone, a mere pebble on the road to the goal that had now become gospel in his mind. Every step, every footfall from here was not simply to extend his dominance across the Island. No. His rage had a focus now, a face, and until Flynn Taggart’s head was mounted at the top of his banner, Ridley would not know peace.
The thought brought a grin to the Dragon’s face, and as thick drills dug into his flesh, Ridley’s sadistic cackle echoed for miles.
Holes in his body, and neck, a shredded wing, and the Witstealer’s gash refused to stop bleeding. It was easier to name what the Space Dragon wasn’t bleeding from. Many would be dead from this level of injury, but Ridley was no mere mortal - his eyes kept their glare, a red sheen added into it as Darkseid’s corruption worked its way through his mind.
The Doom Slayer
The name came unbidden to Ridley, off some ephemeral astral wind. Lord Darkseid, or the clown. It forced him to know his name. Just as arrogant and putrid as the hunter he’d once battled across the galaxy.
The Apex Predator had grown too confident in his allies, it appeared. The infested had died a grisly death elsewhere, for all her scheming. The ridiculous glob of putty had found its match. Dresden’s embrace of the chaos in his mind hadn’t amounted to more than a loss of his arms, and the rhyming, haughty magician died to a teenaged runt wearing armour too big for him.
He felt rage at the Helldivers for bringing their filthy weapons to bear against his carnival, and rage against the Lieutenants who’d had the indignity to fall under his banner. Had Pennywise sent him a group of weaklings?!
The Dragon gave a growl of rage at the thought. It was drowned out by the machines that were wheeled forward. The menagerie of equipment was mixed with drills and saws and various implements of spiteful magic that the Space Pirate had no understanding of.
The Slayer…
Everything had fallen from the General’s grasp, all due to the Slayer!
Rage boiled, as his men lowered the first piece - a chestplate, still cherry red from the forge. covered in eldritch symbols and filled with a series of holes - places to drive in the screws. It was the first piece of many, jagged iron covered with cables and arcane runes. Much of it was unnecessary to simply hold the dragon, but experimental additions - a product of the unnaturally sadistic curiosity of even the most medically minded in the carnival.
It didn’t matter to Ridley. The restraints were put on as they lowered the Darksteel Carapace and the molten-hot bolts were readied. The Dragon’s agitation grew as a spiderlike apparatus slowly lowered it, inch by inch.
“Don’t waste my time!” the Dragon snapped. “Faster!”
Ridley knew well the maelstrom of pain he’d endure as the super-heated metal was fused to his flesh, but the dragon couldn’t have cared less. His mind was focused elsewhere. This was a stepping stone, a mere pebble on the road to the goal that had now become gospel in his mind. Every step, every footfall from here was not simply to extend his dominance across the Island. No. His rage had a focus now, a face, and until Flynn Taggart’s head was mounted at the top of his banner, Ridley would not know peace.
The thought brought a grin to the Dragon’s face, and as thick drills dug into his flesh, Ridley’s sadistic cackle echoed for miles.
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