or, enter your birth date.
bottle rocketsi want to throw up my scatterbrain.bottle rockets by DynamiteHearts
stain my thumb, budding fruition
i am the first born child
of a mild mess and a heated tragedy
i am the pressured revelation
of a situation built on burning chests
rest your head on my shoulder until
your weight feels like a boulder and i
can't breathe in this house anymore without
disappointing my mother and my
spine is creaking crickets through its cracks
white noise wacks my cranium
i want to get drunk and kill myself
suicide homicide parasites
witness the sites of my
this broken recording
roaring desperate pleas sent to
sometimes when i see people
who have hurt me
i think about
bashing their brains on the
side of the bathroom stall
i'd slam her teeth into the wall
watch his head fall into the pavement
(i meant to save my s e l f
i'm try in g
Letter To My Younger SelfLetter To My Younger Self by CometFire21
If I could prepare you for what was to come, believe me, I would. But even now, I don’t think I could. You were so much younger then, so innocent. Content with life, just... happy to be there.
You couldn’t always get what you wanted because your family was poor, but you didn’t mind. You understood why you couldn’t have much, and you were content with it.
People will pick on you when you start to get older, but that’s just because you’re smaller than them, so you seem weaker. The worst of the bullies will be your brother. Of course, he thinks he’s being funny, but, in reality, he’s just hurting you. Even now, you won’t let him touch you because of how he behaved when he was younger.
One year, you will have very little. Both your parents will have lost their jobs, your mother having been fired for standing up to her boss, your father having been laid off. But, you won’t mind. Friends will help provide for you while your moth
or, enter your birth date.
Strangled at Birth: The Epiphany of Pride
Author's note: this is yet another of my Strangled at Birth series. A great deal of Influence was drawn from Fritz Lang's Metropolis. Another large influence was my own mother's experience growing up in a dictatorship where people could be disappeared for speaking the wrong way. At the end of the day, it just felt right to write this. I hope you enjoy it and review and read.
The man known as Fuhrer Fritz Bradley of Amestris was in fact no man at all. Sure he had a penis and a pair of testicles but since he was a homunculus and not a human being; he could not rightly call himself a man. Unlike the other homunculi created by the cold hearted and sociopathic woman Dante, this had never bothered him; if a human was determined by their ability to produce viable sperm and die a slow death after their reproductive potential was exhausted then we wasn’t exactly missing much.
In Pride’s own mind, a human was the sum total of their physical appearance. Hence he, being handsome and beautiful, was more human than human. Likewise Lust should not have gotten so butthurt about her homunculus body being like Alfonse Elric’s armour; she was sexy, so what else did she need?
Lust was missing for some reason, though he was more worried about little Wrath being absent. To clarify little Wrath, Pride-Bradley meant Izumi Curtis’s aborted fetus spliced with Edward Elric’s arms; not his angsty asshole of a Bradley-doppelganger from another universe.
Yet both Wrath and Lust would have to take a backseat compared to what had gone down with his master Dante this very evening.
Pride bowed before his master, unmoving as a statue while Dante hacked and coughed. The centuries old immortal shook, convulsed and hacked thick, yellow phlegm into a simple tin bucket. Though he wanted to, Pride new better than to hold Dante or comfort her. The emotionally dead woman would interpret that as an attack rather than any kind of personal tenderness; especially when her eyes weren’t on the person touching her. So he left her to her devices.
Dante threw her head back to wetly gasp for air; as if her airways were clogged with mud. Most of her lower jaw was missing, and the two stumps of her jawbone glistened with saliva and some fluids that weren’t supposed to exist in the human body. Staples and sutures held her torso together from where she’d been sliced nearly into pieces; nasty looking brown colored ooze wept from the wounds.
Shaking and quaking, Dante vomited up her own tongue into the bucket. Trembling like a leaf, the centuries old alchemist dragged a rolling tray of mechanical components towards her. With a clap of hands, alchemic energy flowed through the tray and its components and they began to reconfigure and alter; an act which not only required precise knowledge of chemistry and the periodic table but also of machinery and biology.
Some sense of muscular control returning to her, Dante lifted up a muzzle like contraption and began to fasten it over her gory mouth-hole. Pride felt his boner wilt at the gruesome injury being covered up; but he couldn’t deny the beauty of Dante’s self-inflicted muzzle. Brass pipes were configured on the front in such a way that they looked like shiny, yellow horse teeth.
Hands steadied, Dante grabbed a backpack set of bellows with build in air filters. Throwing it around her, Dante nearly burst the staples and sutures as well as flashed the scarred, withered remains of her breasts. At least she hadn’t lost feeling in her nipples.
With the backpack in place, she took the breathing tubes dangling off of it like tentacles and she thrust them between her ribs.
There was a sickening pop-hiss as breathing needles punctured lungs and then just like that, Dante’s laboured wheezing breaths stopped. On her back, the bellows filled and emptied in time with the death alchemist’s lungs and all trembling stopped.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Dante grabbed a silk bathrobe and threw it over her disgusting nakedness; much to Pride’s sexual frustration.
At last Dante spoke, aided by a mechanical voice box from out of Winry Rockabell’s fever dreams. “The alternate universe Selim-Pride attempted to kill me today.” She said plainly, tonelessly. “And just as I had perfected the soul transference process of the philosopher’s stone.” Still no emotion. One of her eyes began to wander from the other, so she jammed two fingers into her eye socket and manually twisted it into place.
She went on. “Thus far our interaction with the so called Brotherhood-Universe has amused me, but our response to this attack must be predictable and consistent.” She took a deep breath and shifted the horse-tooth mask so that it didn’t hurt her saliva gland so much. “I’ve built a device designed to erase philosopher’s stones from existence. Take it and kill this homunculus that looks like your adopted son. Then kill the self-aware philosopher’s stone called Father.” She was starting to get bored now. “Commit any rapes, tortures and other crimes that you deem fit, slave. Just make sure that everyone is dead at the end of the day, the details are up to you.”
Pride grinned with excitement, “It will be glorious, my master.”
Dante narrowed her eyes, “I don’t give your wife’s big, fat horse’s ass on toast; Pride. Don’t fuck this up.” Groaning, she leaned back and opened up her bathrobe. Lewdly, she began to scratch at the fork of her legs; her pussy the only part of her that wasn’t hideously mutilated and scarred. “After what I’ve been through I need an orgasm,” she promptly kicked over the bucket of puke, slime, tongue and Christ knows what else over. “Go eat my medical waste, slave.”
Pride’s face just burst with the biggest shit eating grin, “I love you, master.” And just a good little cock-slave began to degrade and debase himself for his master’s sexual satisfaction.
He’d picked up Dante’s device after she’d beaten and humiliated him, abusing him verbally and physically before pinching a loaf in his mouth. It had all been very lovely and it only affirmed the love that Pride felt for the borderline psychopathic woman. He had no idea why Greed had ever left her.
But there were some matters that came even before his master’s dictates. Gently, fatherly Pride woke up his son Selim. The true Selim, not that bastard creation by that pile of shit called Father. “Son, wake up.” He murmured gently.
Slowly at first, Selim stirred and then bleary eyes took him back to the land of the waking. “Father,” she whispered, “What time is it?”
Pride smiled with true fatherly pride, “Son, I just wanted you to know that I love you. I’m going on a secret mission.”
Selim sat up in bed, eyes and face full of worry. “Will you be alright?” The boy looked like he was about to cry. It honestly tore at Pride’s heart and he was glad for the lack of tear glands.
“Of course I’ll be alright, son; nobody’s tougher than your dad,” he gave his son a reassuring laugh. Selim’s distress was appeased but not fully gone. “I just wanted to let you know son that I love you and I just want you to be the best at whatever you decide to do. Never let anybody tell you what to do. And the only way to get good at anything from scrubbing toilets to performing alchemy is mindless, endless repetition and practice. When you’ve done it so many times that your hands are bleeding and you’re too tired to sweat, then you’ll have learned it.” He nodded, cursing himself for giving his son an afterschool sermon instead of something from the heart. “I love you boy.”
And with that, father and son hugged. It was these moments when he kicked himself for parenting wrong that Pride felt truly human.
And it was when he was on the hunt that Pride felt truly alive. He ran through the wilderness of Northern Amestris close to the border of Drachma; evading armoured kataphraktoi units as well as faster, more mobile Russ warbands or the hordes of feral chimera that infested the woods, rivers and streams of the north.
Pride shoved a load of red stones into his mouth, the souls encased within fueling his power. This was what he lived for; the grand challenge. He never did anything small. Fuck cracking a walnut with a sledge hammer, he cracked that stupid nut with high powered rifle shot.
Finally, Pride reached it, the Northern Warp gate which the Drachman Orthodox church had long ago declared Thanasimos, or deadly. A thing of crude stone and strange sigils, built by a race of wizards long dead; wizards, not true alchemists. What they wrought all those eons ago still functioned and only the truly insane sought to access the gate.
Pride ran at the gate full tilt, leaping while clenching the amulet Dante had given him; trusting his master’s works to send him to the right world. He found it exhilarating as the gate tore apart his very being down to the subatomic level and beamed him to an alternate universe that existed trillions of light years away yet right next door forty five years from now and last Wednesday.
Pride came crashing to the ground after his trip through reality and unreality. Instantly, all of his senses began to scan the environment. Smell, hearing and regular sight as well as the ultimate eye took in a treasure trove of data which could prove useful.
The Fuhrer homunculus took to the shadows like a Xingese assassin. The ultimate eye revealed everything from the emotional and physical states of humans on the streets, the exact chemical composition of pollution from downwind factories and the back of his head. Around various locations in the city, Pride could make out scores of Amesterian soldiers from this dimension . . . setting up high explosives?
Pride stopped to watch the soldiers on his grand tour of Central City. Massive quantities of low tech but powerful explosive substance were being set up in the Central City Library, the red light district downtown, the banks in the financial district and the theater houses. While he kept an eye out for Selim-Pride, Bradley couldn’t help but wonder why Father or Wrath Bradley would want to demolish sections of their city; particularly sections that would disrupt the grand alchemic seal.
Moving like a leaf on the wind, Pride ghosted his way through Central City. It took some time, but eventually his ultimate eye detected a chemical signature from expensive, high end soap. Pride followed that chemical trail for as long as he could. He knew from prior research that this particular whale oil soap was favoured by the higher ups in this Amestris; so he had to narrow down the search. He followed the chemical trail which was untainted by the various oils and aromas of the human body. Refining the search further, he began to follow the ionization of air that was one of the telltale signs of either an electric dynamo or a homunculus’s nervous system. That took him to Selim-Pride.
Bradley-Pride watched from among the roofs as below him inside an old and unsafe factory, Selim-Pride marched with a group of Amesterian soldiers and . . . something else. It was dressed in an Amesterian uniform but there was no heartbeat or biological processes like a human being or even a chimera should have. The unknown creature’s body wasn’t quiet; there were alchemical processes going on that he’d never seen before. The information the ultimate eye gave him was useless without a second of the species to study. He wouldn’t know how the thing was created or what powered it; all the eye told him was that the unbeating heart was the nexus of alchemic activity.
Selim-Pride gave a smirk as two of the soldiers took General Raven and tossed him into an industrial incinerator. This was a particularly nice model because there was a grill with just enough room to see a human face on the door. The two soldiers threw their bodies into it and slammed the heavy door of the incinerator. Next to pride, the pale Major stood even vigilant.
“You can’t do this!” Raven shrieked as he pounded on the incinerator door, “I have Father’s blessings!”
“And I have father’s orders,” Pride spoke down to the lowly maggot, “And those orders say you threaten everything we have worked for. Father is reorganizing and only the best will see the Promised day.”
“But I’ve done everything you asked! Everything!” the man pleaded through tears, even as the pale Major was fumbling with the incinerator’s ignition system.
“There lays the crux of the problem,” Pride’s voice turned eerie and flanged as his shadow arms began to spread across the room. “You only did what we asked. You never once volunteered to give more or to do better and you never sought to sacrifice yourself for our greater glory. You only cared about what we could do for you. There’s no room for you in our better world.”
With that, the ignition system kicked in and Raven screamed as blue hot fire engulfed his body. It only took five seconds for the fire to rip the oxygen from his lungs, but he lived much longer than that.
Pride’s smile turned into a scowl and his shadow appendages writhed and twisted with energy and malice. “What are you animals standing around for? We’ve nearly a dozen more targets to purge before morning.”
The troop of soldiers never did get to finish those targets as a pair of hands smashed through the wooden floor and dragged a very unlucky corporal down to the floor below. The squad of soldiers cursed and shouted in surprise; Selim-Pride was unresponsive and the Pale Major took up a hand gun and stepped between Pride and the floor.
The band of soldiers began to sweat and pray as they heard the screams of their stolen comrade for a split second before a massive geyser of bloody slurry came shooting through the hole; Bradley-Pride having chopped up the soldier into something the consistency of ketchup.
Panicking, the nearest soldiers blinked human paste from their eyes and began unloading their machineguns down below in the hopes of hitting the enemy. They hadn’t even emptied their magazines when Bradley-Pride exploded through a window in the factory with both swords drawn; having run all the way from the story below to the rooftop of the neighbouring building.
The Amesterian soldiers stood as much chance against Bradley-Pride as fruit stands against a blender. It wasn’t the kind of brutal hack job that his “brother” Wrath-Bradley would have pulled; Bradley-Pride sliced through joints, cut arteries, nerves, disconnected veins and opened up every section of each soldier’s digestive system. It was the rapid cutting of a master sushi chef.
Selim-Pride watched with detachment, not even using his shadow arms and appendages to attack Bradley-Pride. The teeth and smiles of the shadows gnashed with more repressed energy.
In fewer seconds than could be counted on one hand, the only living beings in the room were the two Prides and the pale Major. The young man, seemingly too young for a Major’s rank fired a shot at Bradley-Pride. An angle change of the sword deflected the bullet back at the Major and hit him in the eye; yet he did not fall. He fired his gun again, this time missing for lack of depth perception; having just lost an eye.
In response, Pride threw his sword through the Major’s heart. The impact lifted the young Major off his feet and blew him twelve feet back. So great was the impact that the sword sunk into a concrete support pillar; the Major pinned like a bug.
The wounded Major gasped and spat out blood, but wasn’t dead despite his injuries. Pride saw through his ultimate eye that he’d disrupted the alchemic processes of this unknown creature but hadn’t done so fatally. Already regeneration was kicking in and in some ways it was homunculus like, but in some ways it wasn’t. One thing that Bradley-Pride did notice was that the subject’s body was using blood to fuel the regeneration. Interesting.
The Major grabbed the sword with his bare hands, shredding the skin of his palms; but the pain seemed to have no bearing on him. His mouth opened and opened more, and more, and more and more until it seemed he could eat a human head in two bites. Twin fangs erupted from behind the canine teeth and his remaining eye glowed red. The eye had had been pulped by a gunshot was half regenerated now and looked like a red and milky white infected blister.
With all his inhuman strength, the Major ripped the sword from his body. From out of his jacket he withdrew a can of red spray paint and began to fire it all over his mouth until he had a nice crimson grill.
Bradley-Pride didn’t need the ultimate eye to smell the stench of old, preservative rich blood mixed heavily into the spray paint along with anti-coagulants strong enough to bleed a human to death with just a single drop.
Roaring like a lion, the Major drew the not-so-ceremonial sword at his side and threw himself at Bradley-Pride.
The swordsman homunculus smirked at the charging monster with the fangs of a deep sea fish, one stroke and the head was off. Comically, the momentum of the charging major caused it to slam into the incinerator that held General Raven’s remains. It bounced off without any sound of breaking bones before crumbling into dust.
Bradley never got the chance to take his eyes off the dead monstrosity before he saw the shadow arms of pride attack. Contemptuously, he allowed the arms to chop off his head and slice it into a thousand pieces. Bradley lunged forward at Selim-Pride, drawing a spare sword from his back and relying on his spinal ganglia and the balance organs in his knees for direction. Even with no head he could still kill.
His head hadn’t even reformed beyond a skinless skull when Pride’s shadow arms attacked from every angle. It looked like they’d condensed around Bradley-Pride like a solid wall and there was no way out.
Selim-Pride’s eyes narrowed for just one moment as he felt Pride’s twin swords pierce him from behind. Like ripping paper apart, Bradley pulled his swords two different ways and tore Selim-Pride in half. He’d definitely have his work cut out for him today; Selim had nearly twice as many souls in his vessel as he’d the last time they’d met. It looked like Father wasn’t above investing in the useless little skid mark.
The shadow arms caught Pride’s two halves and threw them together, shadows obscuring the spot where the halves regenerated. Bradley-Pride cared nothing for this and attacked, blocking multiple strikes with his indestructible swords and ducking around all the rest. Today wasn’t the day to prove his own indestructability; today was the day he’d tear off Selim-Pride’s little boy ball sack and feed it to him.
“After I kill you,” Bradley-Pride croaked hoarsely, “I’m going to skullfuck the bathrobe wearing horse’s ass you call Father.” Fifty shadow arms whizzed past his face, missing but still taking large chunks off that would have killed a human.
Rather than take the insult, Selim-Pride smiled back and blinked purple eyes. “So the slime comes crawling back. It’s sad that you need to compare yourself to me to feel better; really sad.”
Something about this line hit Bradley-Pride in a tender spot and he ground his sixteen teeth and twenty false teeth. Twisting and slashing he drove his twin swords each two hundred times into Selim’s body; releasing spurts of blood and viscera that he had never before seen coming from Selim-Pride. Then again, he’d never actually wounded Selim-Pride before so maybe this was normal for him. “I’m not going to kill you, actually. I’ll tie you up and charge Ishbalan refugees four cenz each to fuck you in the ass and mouth; three cenz on Sundays!” He hissed out as he chopped off Selim’s limbs.
Thrusting a third extra sword into Selim’s face, Bradley-Pride charged across the room and opened the incinerator door. Selim’s limbs were reforming but there were no red parks; a fact that Bradley-Pride was too angry to notice.
Selim-Pride looked up only to have the inferior Pride grab him by the throat. With a pivot and a follow through, Bradley threw Selim into the incinerator and slammed the door shut; locking it. Inside the brightly lit environment of the incinerator there should have been no way for Selim-Pride to generate shadow arms. He’d simply burn until all his souls were used up and then his vessel would be nothing but ashes. All in all, it would be a nice and painful way to die.
Bradley-Pride straightened up and walked over to the viewing grill on the incinerator. He could already smell the delightful scent of burning flesh. Then without warning, Selim-Pride’s skeletal, burnt hands grabbed the viewing grill and pulled up his small body. His face was burning off right in front of Bradley-Pride’s eyes and he was screaming in agony; a voice that sounded exactly like a child’s would.
It had no effect on Bradley-Pride, who just smiled and blew Selim-Pride a kiss before waving goodbye.
Selim screamed and screamed as his eyes melted like marshmallows and any human features burnt to ashes. And then . . . he began to laugh.
Hysterical, maniacal, uncontrolled laughter began to pour out of Selim-Pride as his body burnt to nothing.
Bradley-Pride took a step back. Selim-Pride never had much in the way of physical discipline or masochism; and all research and Intel suggested that Father’s homunculi had far lower pain thresholds than those of Dante. Selim-Pride could physically survive the punishment of the incinerator but this behavior was totally out of left field.
Before Bradley-Pride could act, the bombs set up at the foundation of the factory had detonated and Bradley-Pride was in free fall. Tumbling through fire and debris, Pride fell through the factory and down into the basement level. There in the basement level of all things, was another warp gate; smaller than the one in Drachma’s hinterlands and technological rather than mystical in nature. Pride fell through and the next step began.
Like a cat, Bradley landed on his feet and like a hunting feline took notice of his environment. It was a city; an underground city not unlike the one created by Dante’s first philosopher’s stone, but that was where the similarities ended.
The underground city of Dante was a museum piece; a large vanity bauble owned by a woman who was proud of her greed and avarice. This place was a modern, thriving metropolis. Boulevards and streets showed wear and tear from the constant passage of vehicles. Door hinges were wet with recently applied grease and the various shops lacked any kind of dust or cobwebs. So where were the people?
The city was completely silent, the only sound that Pride could make out were his own footsteps and the noise of his blades swishing as he walked. Bright lights and traffic controls were everywhere but none of it was bright enough to illuminate the cavern ceiling; which was held in place by steel support pillars as thick around as a house.
Pride scanned with all senses, not letting emotion or anger distract him from the data at hand. Going by shops and residences he saw evidence of earth moving machines, road building machinery and construction equipment larger and more technologically advanced than anything in either version of Amestris. His ultimate eye told him that the street lights were powered by alchemic energy of all things; from a philosopher’s stone judging by the unique wavelengths of radiation that accompanied every single light he passed.
This place was a puzzle and Pride didn’t even begin to have all the pieces. This place was technologically advanced and from the look of it, they’d just recently discovered alchemy.
It was funny, Pride contemplated, that neither Father nor Dante had considered using a philosopher stone for something as mundane as powering a city.
As he walked, Pride’s feet took him to what looked like a more economically upscale neighbourhood. Apartment buildings looked newer and made of higher quality materials. He couldn’t read the language of the shop signs, but the price tags on the items in windows had more zeroes on it. So there were some similarities in the language; given time he could use his ultimate eye to fully translate the language; he’d probably need no more than half an hour.
Yet something bothered him, the city seemed to have been evacuated recently. In the closed shops garments had been left on the ground rather than hung up by helpful staff. In a restaurant, cups of once hot coffee sat cold. Experimentally, Pride drank down one such cup and winced.
Old blood, kept on ice for ages before being poured into coffee for some reason. It occurred to him that the city had been full of creatures like the Major he killed; some kind of hemovore with an internal anatomy superficial similar to a homunculus. Though if that was the case, this stale, iced blood in the coffee would have been nutritionally poor fair; tasty like ice-cream and pretzels possibly but designed to fool a drinker into believing they were full.
As he walked, his training in languages was coming into play and worked complimentary to the ultimate eye to read the signs and old newspapers drifting around.
Grabbing one such drifting piece of paper Pride saw it was a poster whose date had no significance for him. “See . . . the special—sacred (?) Ancestor . . . harm the . . . creature?” More than the headlines what grabbed him was the illustration. It was a picture of Selim-Pride, drawn to resemble some kind of malicious imp while squaring off against him in the drawing was an imposing, gothic figure in red duster and comically large hat. The gothic figure was clearly inhuman, with overlong limbs and rows of sharp teeth but the illustrator had taken great pains to showcase him as noble as well as terrifying. He was probably some kind of national icon or folk hero to the denizens of this under-empire.
Bradley walked further down the streets, noticing the utter lack of urban planning. While high tech, most of the roads led into a twisted, tangled mess that must be a nightmare for any commuter. And he hadn’t even seen a single bus stop or tramway anywhere.
Something stood out, something he’d never seen before. In an electronics shop before him was a row of television screens; a technology he’d never seen before. It was almost painful for him to stand in front of the dozen or so screens with his ultimate eye; he enjoyed the pain greatly and got a small erection from it.
Like a child he was mesmerized by the flashing patterns on the screens. Then before his eyes an animated commercial began to play.
A sickeningly saccharine advertising jingle began to play as the special/sacred ancestor began to dance seemingly towards the audience while pushing a shopping cart. The long black hair was fairly well animated and his features were clearly aquiline and noble without looking intimidating; though his limbs were far too long for human proportions and the skin was an unearthly white. While Pride admired the technical aspects of the commercial, something just didn’t sit right with him. It felt like the animated version of this Sacred Ancestor character sat right in the middle of uncanny valley.
If he strained he could understand fully what the Sacred Ancestor figure was shilling for. “BUY TODAY! BUY LOTS! BUY ALWAYS! BUY NEW AND IMPROVED ALUCARD PRODUCTS! BUY NOW OR DIE!!!” Alucard’s badly animated lips could barely keep up with the exuberant and extremely loud voice acting. The animated figure began to laugh psychotically as the scene changed.
Now animated Alucard was in an animated shopping mall with disgustingly kawaii and cheerful shoppers. “FOR THE LADY IN YOUR LIFE, BUY ALUCARD PRODUCTS! HATE THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR NEIGHBOUR? BUY ALUCARD PRODUCTS!”
Any further advertisement was cut short when Pride drove his sword through every single TV screen. Like a big part of him loved the technical aspects of this new technology, he hated the loud, cackling figure telling him to buy useless shit as if he had no brain of his own. The Fuhrer was no stranger to propaganda but this Alucard guy, whoever he was, had stooped to new lows Bradley could never have imagined. He might even torture people by making them watch Alucard advertisements over and over. The well painted red eyes in the cartoon certainly hadn’t looked any less creepy for all the cheerful voice overs and happy music. In fact it made it worse.
Frowning, Pride continued his journey in the under-empire; looking for an enemy, a friend, or even just another living thing. It was starting to get to him.
His unspoken prayers were answered when his ultimate eye caught a whiff of Selim-Pride’s whale oil soap. Bradley-Pride reacted like a starving dog with the scene of meat. In a flash he was gone.
Selim-Pride stood in a prominent square in the underground city, just at the foot of a massive copper statue of the sacred ancestor. Bradley-Pride landed right in front of him, body shaking with blind, psychotic anger. Smirking, Selim-Pride leaned a kneeling figure, bound with a burlap sack over his or her head.
“So” said Selim in that eerie voice, “you think you can just burn me and walk away?”
Bradley pride shifted into combat stance, “You should be begging me for mercy.” He was about to strike when a feeling came over him. Bradley broke into a sweat and fell to his knees. He knew that horrible feeling, knew it could only be one thing.
There, hanging from around someone’s neck was his skull; the last remnant of the man he’d once been before Dante twisted him into a monster.
Pride gasped as the skull held him into place, but under the pain, paralysis and helplessness he felt confusion. “W-w-w-wrath?” Bradley whispered. Definitely Wrath, Izumi Curtis’s kid; and he’d grown. Little Wrath now looked to be a full grown man of twenty-odd years; half a head shorter than Bradley himself but highly muscular and no less wild looking.
The full grown Wrath smirked and rubbed his stubble, around his neck hung Pride’s skull like a rapper’s trophy bling. On each hand and on every finger and thumb were enormous gold rings with letters on them that spelt out “Wrath”.
Smiling, Grown up Wrath sunk his gilded fingers into Bradley-Pride’s chest and pulled apart the two halves like rusty saloon doors. Bradley couldn’t even scream but the agony and humiliation was plain on his face.
Sinew ripped and muscle cracked and Grown Wrath ripped Bradley’s chest in half and looked at Selim-Pride through the hole. “Peek-a-boo!” he shouted cheekily before tossing Bradley-Pride to the ground.
Weakly, Bradley-Pride tried to shove the ripped halves of his torso together, only to be distracted by heavy mechanical footsteps. His lips moved but no sound came out.
There was Lust and she was human now for some reason. That human form of Lust was encased in some kind of mechanical power suit; extremely well armoured and armed if his ultimate eye was to be believed. Lust looked coldly down on him, as he’d looked down on her since her very creation as a homunculus.
Though the skull stunted his regeneration, it didn’t take it away entirely. His lungs healed enough to whisper out some words of defiance. “What’s the matter, Selim,” he taunted, looking at the duplicate of his beloved son. “Was Father not showing you enough love? Did you turn over to work for this Alucard character I keep reading about?”
Selim-Pride reacted in a way that Bradley-Pride did not expect.
Shock, hatred and confusion all passed over Selim-Pride’s face. “Alucard?” he asked as if he’d not spoken the same language as Bradley. That’s when he . . . when he laughed; a small, embarrassed little chuckle. “Never heard of that bastard.”
Now it was Bradley-Pride’s turn to be confused. Selim-Pride didn’t have a sense of humor, and he didn’t curse. Was this another alternate reality version of the Pride-subspecies of homunculi?
“Selim” turned over to the bound captive and spoke a little too cheerfully for his homunculus voice and too deep and creepy for his child voice. “And about you, mein herr, do you do about this, Alucard guy?”
The mask was torn away to reveal . . . Selim-Pride?
The impostor Pride ripped off the ball gag in Selim’s mouth and smiled wider than humanly possible.
Selim-Pride gagged and spat before eyeing his captor coldly, “You will pay for your transgressions; Father will strike you down, monster.”
But the doppelganger was having none of it. Smile warping into a wolfish scowl, he smashed Selim in the face as hard as he could. “DID I FUCKING PERMIT YOU TO SPEAK??!!”He roared as blood poured down Selim’s face. The impostor kept striking Selim, shattering his vessel and knocking him to the ground. “DID I!!??”
The impostor kept striking Selim until the first homunculus was a bloody pulp on the ground and then he kept beating further. The clay vessel shattered and Bradley-Pride knew that he was dead; he’d failed his mission.
As shards of Selim-Pride’s broken vessel scattered everywhere, the imposter dropped his disguise. Though he wore the outward form of Father’s foremost enforcer, the facial expressions and unrestrained laughter was the stuff of nightmares.
On the ground, Bradley-Pride’s hands clenched; fingernails digging grooves into the asphalt of the square. There was that laughter that he’d grown to hate after so little time, that splitting smile that he wanted nothing more than to smash.
The imposter’s body language had him doubled nearly over and the grin was malice without motivation or thought; evil as a reflex rather than a cosmic alignment.
While the laughter went on and on, ringing in his ears and driving him insane, Bradley started to pull himself up, battling through the skull’s influence. If this was to be his last day, the last thing he would do would be to blink.
Shadows twisted and warped, resembling Selim-Pride’s own shadow appendages but taking on organic, fungal shapes. Teeth gnashed but instead of resembling smiles looked like viral protein spikes.
Pride stood up straight and met the face of the Sacred Ancestor. It was not a pretty sight; there was nothing noble or dignified about Alucard. Everything about him was a refutation of sanity, class and beauty.
Alucard looked down on pride, standing higher than all present.
“So it was you all along? You almost killed my master and sabotaged Father’s master plan, and for what?”
Alucard laughed and held out both arms, red duster billowing. “Don’t worry about that, you won’t have to. Father’s operation, Dante fiefdom, even the Kingdom you ruled is all mine now.” The humanoid disease caught an eagle headed cane and his trademark big red hat. “Isn’t that right, ladies?” he asked of Lust and Grown-Wrath.
Alucard turned his Halloween lantern eyes back to Pride and spun his cane in a figure eight pattern while throwing his cap on. “By this time the people of Amestris will be finding your corpse. But don’t feel left out, I also wanted you.”
As he spoke, gigantic projection screens began to unfold all over the town; from buildings and stop lights it was all there. Then from hundreds of carefully concealed spots, cameras began projecting live footage of crowds of hundreds of thousands.
Hundreds of thousands of cheering spectators were watching Pride through hidden cameras and the image of those protesters was broadcasted for Pride to see. Light reflected off of the projection screens bathed Pride like the full moon’s stare. His jaw dropped as aerial drones flew over and filmed him for a live pay-per-view show.
Music blasted over hidden loud speakers and suddenly Fuhrer King Fritz Bradley found himself at the center of the world. The entirety of the Under-Empire had paid out of their pitiful wages first to see Selim-Pride be defeated and humiliated and now they were paying twice as much to see the alternate Pride get the same.
Pride realized this wasn’t a nightmare. This was a joke; and he was it.
Millions of screaming vampires shouted Alucard’s name, screamed that they wanted to carry his babies or give him their children. They shouted prayers to them and how they loved him and that they hated Pride and wanted to see him ten million different punishments and humiliations. It was a level of power that even an autocrat like Bradley-Pride could only dream of.
Banners unfolded next to the projection screens of the next great fight. “One night only! Our mighty King, the Sacred Ancestor destroys the evil Homunculus Wrath!”
Pride seethed and began to foam at the mouth. Of all the assfucks that the vampires and their king could have given him, they’d gotten his name wrong either deliberately or accidently.
Grown up Wrath grinned and flexed blood splattered muscles for the crowds while Lust successfully managed to look dignified and regal.
Alucard meanwhile was bouncing on the balls of his feet and twirling his cane like a conductor’s baton. He danced out of time with the music; instead preferring to march to the beat of his own drum.
Lyrics started to play over the music, which had started out operatic but was now turning heavy metal.
Don’t be afraid!
Just give me all your trust!
Your soul will be saved!
Alucard danced rather than walked or ran over to Pride and drew his white gloved hand behind his back. When he pulled his hand back out again, it was encased in a clawed mechanical gauntlet. His tongue lolling out with panting need or desire, Alucard thrust his mechanical gauntlet deep into Pride’s chest; punching through to the other side of Pride’s body.
This time Pride was able to scream with the help of his one intact lung, spewing out blood as he did. He looked into the eyes of his tormentor, willing himself not to blink.
“We are fighting a war!” Alucard shouted out at the top of his lungs, directing his speech at Pride as much as his own servants. “All resources are weapons to be wielded!”
The screaming of the crowds grew louder and the music’s volume increased to ear bleeding levels.
Just honor me!
I’ll set you free!
So get ready to join
The very last crusade!
“And I declare!” Alucard shouted louder still, bursting one of Pride’s eardrums with his voice, “That the souls in this useless homunculus are now property of the Sacred Ancestor and the United Kingdom of the Vampires!”
The crowds reached the pinnacle of their cheering. Alucard’s metal glove glowed white hot and cooked Pride’s flesh from within.
With a rip and a tear, Alucard pulled his hand from Pride and held in his gauntlet a fully formed philosopher’s stone.
From out of the darkness flew an armoured assault Helicopter bearing the royal seal of the Sacred Ancestor.
With undisguised ecstasy, Alucard tracked the incoming chopper before casting aside Pride like a piece of rubbish. “Hear that?” he howled over the music and the rapidly approaching chopper rotors. “That sounds like incoming victory!”
The music was reaching its crescendo and Alucard was now singing along with it.
“Just honor me!” he cried out gleefully, “I’ll set you free!” he turned as though looking every one of his citizens in the eye. “Just give me all your trust and your souls will be saved!!!”
The chopper had set down now and the wind coming off the rotors threw Pride back as if the loss of souls had made him no heavier than a leaf.
Grown up Wrath and Lust were walking towards the chopper, flanking their new master and acting as his bodyguards.
Pride felt his wounds but also his feeling was returning as his skull was getting more and more distant from him.
Alucard, Lust and Grown up Wrath had all stepped onto the chopper and it was taking off, but the pilot was banking towards Pride. As it flew overhead, Alucard threw something at the humiliated homunculus. “HERE!” He screamed with spittle flying from his piranha mouth, “THIS IS FOR YOUR GENEROUS DONATION!”
Pride saw it, some kind of blinking, computerized grenade which was full of radioactive metal.
Gasping, something inside of Pride just snapped. It wasn’t anger he was feeling, nor was it really any emotion he’d ever felt before. As he shot up, ignoring all pain and the loss of his souls, Pride screamed at the top of his lungs and began to run faster than he ever had before.
As he fled, Pride saw swarms of vampires too poor to afford pay-per-view; miserable wretches in black pajamas and hats with serial numbers on them. They looked at him with dead eyed joy brought on by religion and patriotism beating their mind’s eye until it swelled shut. “I want his eye!” one shouted. “I want his head!” Someone else screamed; all of them desperate for trophies and souvenirs to mark the grand occasion of their mighty and beloved King.
The lights on the nuclear device were blinking faster now and Pride made a split second decision. Ripping off the lid of a garbage disposal chute, he threw himself into the unknowable blackness just as the nuke went off and killed hundreds of Alucard’s faithful vampires.
Pride had survived in the empire of the Sacred Ancestor for years. In all that time he hadn’t even seen the lowest levels of the city. Right now he was in some sort of factory level where the workers seemed to be parts of the machines they worked. On soot stained and half-forgotten banner read, “Great is the world and its creator, the Sacred Ancestor. And Great is the Vampyr!”
Pride hid in a stinking garbage heap, evading armed patrols, secret police task forces and hungry vampires looking for an easy meal. But even with no souls in him, Pride was hardly an easy target.
He was nude and wore nothing but filth and dirt; all the better to hide his scent. As the patrol passed he swallowed the rat he’d been chewing; he’d been forced to rely on chemical energy like a human instead of alchemic energy like a proper homunculus.
He’d gone constantly deeper, almost four kilometers from the main square he’d been defeated at. Yet there was always a deeper level, like a reverse Tower of Babel descending into hell. Always deeper.
The ultimate eye scanned out and found what he’d been looking for almost ten years. The ultimate eye saw it when even the keenest senses of the vampires could not. A house, ancient and rotten; forgotten by the ages and even forgotten by Alucard himself. A place where the temperature was just a few degrees cooler than anywhere else and shadowed to minds as well as eyes.
He entered by the chimney, twisting in ways that would kill a human but he’d made it. The lone human occupant of the house looked nearly as bad as he did; malnourished, dark circles on his eyes like he hadn’t slept since the day he was born. A wild tangle of hair could once have been any color.
But Pride didn’t need the ultimate eye to recognize the shape of the jaw and nose or recognize Amesterian automail.
“Begone, phantom!” shouted the human, half insane. “If you had any respect you would kill yourself now!” The human spoke wildly, unaccustomed to talking to anyone but himself, “Begone, assassin!”
“Is that how you greet your only friend?” Pride inquired through a voice rusty from disuse. “I bring a gift, Rotwang the Inventor.” In one scabrous, filthy hand was a device built to resemble a pocket watch. “Alucard may not be a philosopher’s stone, but he is powered by souls same as I was. My master’s machine won’t work on him, but an equally skilled alchemist can tweak it to finally kill the vampire king.”
Rotwang gnashed his teeth, “The loss of my hand wasn’t enough, nor the loss of my wife! I care nothing for Alucard. I only wish to return home and finally make sure my two sons are alright!”
Pride smiled, teeth perfectly white against a face coated in years of filth, shit, chemical waste and much worse. “That’s not how it works; the world is bigger than your family. But I can help you. I may not be able to perform alchemy, but I’ve learned secrets of vampire anatomy even you don’t know. I know how to turn their soul-equivalents into useful energy in theory.” He folded his bony arms across his chest, “Unlike you and unlike any human, I never forgot who I was or my mission. There are no human souls you can sacrifice to get back, but I can show you how to do it with vampire energy. Take my offer; it wasn’t easy to find out all that I know.”
Rotwang bowed his head, rough cloak draping around him like the wings of a bat. He was silent.
“People like us know the world is unfair,” Pride continued, “And then there are people who aggressively try to make the world a worse place to live in; people like Alucard.” He took a step towards the inventor. “You managed to make alchemy work in a world where it should not. The vampires think you’re a myth like giant reptiles in the sewer. You’ve killed more vampires than Alucard’s secret police; the only reason they haven’t gone after you is because you kill the poor and the un-privileged. You are a legend; a monster to the monsters. But why stop there”
Pride put a hand on the brooding inventor, “Why settle for killing the weak and the slow when we take out the heart of the beast.” He moved until he was almost touching noses with Rotwang, “You know this is the right thing, Rotwang the inventor.” And he smirked, his first true smile in months, “Or should I say, Hohenheim of Light? You can derive alchemic energy from the tectonic plates but only my knowledge can make the sacrifice to open the gate of knowledge and worlds”
Rotwang, Hohenheim, whatever his name was trembled in Pride’s presence. He’d all but forgotten his humanity and almost forgot his own identity. All that mattered now were his sons. Dante had sent him here and now only Dante’s bastard creation could help him get back.
“I will help you,” said Hohenheim.
Pride grinned, a fearsome visage to rival Alucard’s, “I love it when a plan gets going.”
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Planetary Conquest Profile: The United Federation of Planets Part 1
Author’s note: The style of this profile is a mix of my own and a heavy dose of inspiration from . He’s fucking awesome, check him out and you’ll see why he inspired this somewhat more humorous profile.
After this, will come the hero section and then everything will be uploaded onto my blog. Enjoy
Bio: For more than three hundred years, the United Federation of Planets weathered assaults external as well as internal; fighting back hostile alien empires and undermining political opportunists who would turn it into a totalitarian empire.
For the PC tournament, the Federation brings to battle the resources and assets of more than 155 moons, planets, colonies and allied governments. Many alien species join together, putting aside differences to march lock to fight the darkness without while resisting the temptation of the darkness within.
Recon: The Federation is highly scientifically advanced and wields a variety of long and short range scanners that can easily cover the surface of a planet and deliver advanced details on the topography biosphere and habitation. The Federation is also highly adept at hacking enemy communications and resting being hacked; something they gained practice at during recent conflicts.
Atmospheric shuttles can move quickly and provide real time viewing of enemy armies and fortifications.
As a last effort, highly trained Special Forces teams can teleport behind enemy lines for either recon or harassment.
Name: Military Assault Command Operative
Weapon Type: Phaser Weapon
Armour Type: Hazard suit
Maximum range: mortar range
Preferred range: assault rifle range
Known colloquially as the MACOs, these fine men, women and tertiary gender soldiers operate as the primary infantry force of the UFC. Normally these soldiers operate as ship security or planetary defence.
During the Dominion war the MACOs gained fame for enduring horrifying casualties in both defensive and offensive operations against the numerically superior and fanatical Jem’Hadar. While they are few in number, the MACOs are highly trained and are backed up by an advanced arsenal and a solid logistical machine.
Long range: Compression Phaser Rifle—One of the most powerful hand held weapons available to the Federation, these weapons serve as the primary weapon for onboard or planet side action. Able to fire accurate bolts of phased direct energy with zero recoil, the compression rifle was also very low maintenance and had a long lasting battery pack.
The rifle had a variable charge setting, from a stun setting that could knock out a target for a few seconds to maximum power which could vaporize a human sized armoured target.
When linked with a tricorder and a MACOs Hazard suit, the weapon could achieve sniper rifle ranges up to a kilometer and a half; though this use of the weapon would drain the power pack much faster.
Medium range: Federation Assault Rifle—Functionally it works more like a shotgun than an assault rifle, though it has a much longer range than any real world ballistic shotguns. The weapon fires an energy bolt that expands, making for devastating damage at close range and next to none at longer ranges.
Slung below the main gun of the weapon is a plasma bolt launcher with a four shot magazine; each shot able to blow apart multiple light targets or rip through a single well armoured one.
Like the Compression rifle, there is a variable power setting on the weapon for either stun, kill or everything in between.
Photon Burst Launcher—A heavy weapon designed by the crew of Voyager during their years in the Delta quadrant, this heavy weapon can either kill mass infantry in heavy splash damage or else rip through armour and energy shields of well protected targets and vehicles. The launcher is a single shot weapon and has a targeting and homing function ideal for shooting down enemy aircraft.
Short range: Type 2 Phaser—A handheld version of the Federation’s line of phaser weapons, the type 2 is a short ranged but highly accurate holdout weapon. The weapon’s settings are precise enough to vaporize a parasitic slug without scorching the carpet it’s crawling on or to vaporize a full grown man.
The stun setting on the type 2 is useful against most organic lifeforms of comparable mass to an adult human; only creatures with very specialized or very resilient nervous systems can shrug off the stun settings at their highest.
Photon grenade mortar—A high powered, computer guided mortar tube able to fire a photon grenade up to ten kilometers. These fire a larger and more powerful version of the handheld versions of the photon grenade.
Photon grenade—A type of electromagnetic pulse grenade usually designed to short out computer systems and electronics. At higher settings, the EMP pulse is fatal to organic lifeforms; scrambling their DNA irreparably in the blast radius.
Hazard suit—The original hazard suits were built not for military action but for exploration in the most dangerous environments of the final frontier. Under the auspices of Lt. Commander Tuvok, the Hazard suits were adapted for combat as well as dangerous alien worlds.
The suit’s outer layer protects the wearer from ballistic weapons as well as direct energy attacks; millions of nanites in the suit repair cosmetic and structural damage. An energy absorption matrix allowed the suit to redirect extreme amounts of energy; blasts that could vaporize a human being would instead leave the wearer severely injured. For whatever the absorption matrix couldn’t handle, anabolic protoplasmers and dermal regenerators acted to stabilize life threatening injuries until a field medic could be accessed or else repair more minor wounds. A limited shock absorber shielded helped to greatly reduce risk of injury from falls but great enough heights would still injure the soldier.
The foot pads of the suit are equipped with magnetic strips to operate in zero-g environments and a sealed helmet allows the wearer to survive in a vacuum for hours as well as resist nearly all chemical and radiological attacks. The suit provides a heads up display for the wearer, projecting crosshairs for their weapon. Furthermore, the suit’s targeting computer is able to link up with a soldier’s tricorder in order to read scans of local environments, enemies, vehicles and weapons. Furthermore with help from crewmembers of the Starship Enterprise, the current line of Hazard suits can provide excellent night vision.
One of the hazard suit’s most ingenious features was of a personal transporter buffer; a literal hammer space that could be used to store up to one hundred kilograms of wear in the form of pure energy patterns. Soldiers in the suit would carry all their gear and have it literally weigh nothing.
The final feature of the suit was a universal power adapter, which allowed the wearer to recharge their suit’s internal power supply with nearly any power source; even totally foreign alien power sources were able to be tapped. Direct plug in with a power source not only replenished the suit’s power but could fully heal crewmen near death in the absence of a medic; though this would require a much higher power drain on nearby sources. The power adaptor could also serve to feed energy, recharging downed vehicles (small ones) and also recharging a soldier’s weapons when they began to run low.
Name: Bajoran Militia
Weapon Type: Phaser Weapon
Armour Type: light armour
Maximum range: mortar range
Preferred range: sniper range
Classification: skirmishing sharpshooters
While the Federation has virtually no standing army, a number of their allies and client states do maintain standing militaries and ground forces to handle local security and such matters.
The Bajorans are a recent member in the Federation, having recently suffered almost eighty years of brutal occupation by the now defunct Cardassian Union. Bajor volunteers its militia in service of the federation as a thanks for not only helping to rebuild their planet after the Cardassians essentially raped their world but also for helping to beat back a combined Cardassian-Dominion invasion.
Bajoran Phaser Rifle—The Bajoran militia were once a hard-core terrorist organization dedicated to battling the Cardassians and later the Dominion. As such their main weapon is built with scarcity in mind. While not as powerful as a federation compression rifle, the Bajoran phaser rifle is much easier to manufacture and faster as well.
Besides being ruggedized compared to most energy weapons, the Bajoran phaser includes a scanner on the barrel that acts as an infrared scope as well as a simple but accurate scanner. In past times, these scanners allowed Bajoran sharpshooters to blow away Cardassian patrols in poor visibility as well as cut down on friendly fire in raids and ambushes gone wrong. The Bajorans themselves are excellent snipers with years of experience of marksmanship.
The most recent line of Bajoran phasers are built with sarium krellide power cells in order to be compatible with Federation chargers. Like Federation phasers they possess a number of stun and kill settings.
Quantum Launcher—See Hazard Team
Photon Mortar—See MACO
Bajoran Phaser Pistol—Functionally similar to the Federation’s side arms, this weapon possesses similar power and accuracy to a standard Federation sidearm. Like the Bajoran Phaser rifle, it is easier to manufacture and quicker than its federation counterpart.
Bilitrium grenade—A grenade that functioned similarly to a Star Wars thermal detonator, a radioactive metal in the grenade was triggered in a mini nuclear explosion. A timer on the grenade could allow it to double as a time bomb and it included adhesive strips to attack to enemy vehicles or buildings.
One of the weaknesses of the grenade was the way they leaked anti-protons; giving them away to enemies who knew what to scan for.
IED’s—Given the militia’s origins, Bajoran soldiers have training and skills that go beyond those of an ordinary soldier. Bajoran soldiers in the field have a phenomenal talent for making improvised explosives and booby traps; talents and skills that normally the Federation wouldn’t condone but would probably permit under extreme circumstances.
There is no standard set of improvised explosives and bombs, and as the battle progresses Bajoran soldiers will adapt enemy technology towards lethal ends.
Defence: The Uniform of Bajoran soldiers is equipped with a phase absorption matrix like the hazard suit. This will allow them to survive the worst of even hits that can vaporize an adult human, but it is not as effective against ballistic or melee attacks.
Like the hazard suit, there is a teleporter buffer that allows them to carry their gear in a hammer space. The suit by itself is not vacuum rated though soldiers can carry anti-vacuum or anti-chemical/biological survival gear.
Name: Klingon Warrior
Weapon Type: Disruptor Weapon
Armour Type: Heavy armour
Maximum range: sniper Rifle Range
Preferred range: assault rifle range
Classification: heavy raiders
After the Dominion War the Klingon Empire was in shambles. While the Romulans and the Federation were all but taking over the Alpha Quadrant, the empire had suffered staggering losses in terms of men and ships; their large standing army and fleet a serious economic drain that further impeded their recovery.
Upon hearing of the strange case of the Portal Master’s PC tournament, innumerable Klingon warriors volunteered to fight under the Federation; for in their eyes the Federation had proven its honour and prowess in battle time and time again.
The Klingons are proud, ruthless and have trained their entire lives to fight and to kill. Like Frank Miller protagonists they seek to die in a way to give their enemies the biggest possible middle finger.
Klingon Disruptor rifle—Superficially similar in appearance and power output to a Federation compression rifle, a Klingon disruptor used direct energy to rip apart a target’s molecular makeup. This was a quick but agonizingly painful way to die. The rifle had two settings, kill and disintegrate; the kill setting being for if the Klingon warrior was in the mood to take trophies from the dead.
Tetryon Gatling gun—After the Dominion War, the Klingon Empire began mass producing these multi-barrelled weapons of mass destruction. While it drains its battery very quickly compared to other Federation and Federation allied energy weapons the gun’s fast recharging barrels can put down a tremendous amount of lethal energy at high accuracy, zero recoil and at least rifle range.
A secondary trigger on the gun fires a tetryon grenade from a magazine of five; this deadly anti-personnel grenade releases an energy pulse that bounces off of hard surfaces, ripping through a squad of enemy soldiers a dozen times over before shortly dissipating. The damage is greatest in confined spaces.
Disruptor pistol—Similar in power and accuracy to a Federation phaser pistol, the Disruptor has only kill and stun settings and kills agonizingly.
Bat’Leth—Some people on the internet have pointed out that the design of a bat’leth is as liable to kill the user as the enemy. For the Klingon’s that’s not a bug it’s a feature; because they’re so damn jaded by bloodlust and life that having a useful weapon is considered an unfair advantage.
The crescent shaped, three handled bat’leth is an ancient Klingon ceremonial and practical weapon forged from nearly indestructible composite baakonite and honed down to a monomolecular edge.
Klingon’s use these double ended scimitar blades to great effect, cutting up well armoured Jem’Hadar like they were wearing nothing but the steam of a morning shower. These weapons have even been shown to cut through the heavy armour plating of borg drones.
Mak’leth—About half the length of the bat’leth, the mak’leth is a long dagger used for backstabbing, throat cutting and disemboweling. Like the bat’leth, this dastardly dagger was monomolecular; able to slice through armoured space suits and borg armour.
In prior wars the Klingons believed that both combat medicine and armour would coddle a soldier and make armies weaker in the long run. Devastating casualties at the physically superior and better trained Jem’Hadar have made the Klingon High command rethink their stance.
The standard Klingon Warrior now wears a suit with a heavy phase absorption matrix which could tank more damage overall than that of the Hazard suit. Models of the current suit do not possess any of the healing ability of the Hazard suit though they do possess rudimentary ways to stabilize a critically injured warrior and allow him one last chance to make a kill before croaking.
Like the Hazard suit the armour’s targeting system integrates with the Klingon weapons to give both crosshairs and a sniper function on the disruptor rifle. Finally it too possesses a transporter buffer to act as a personal hammer space.
Natural resilience—Klingon anatomy is very hardy. Their bodies possesses two livers (they drink like the Demoman) an eight chambered heart, three lungs and even a redundant nervous system. They were able to take damage that could kill a human and keep fighting; in addition their stamina and pain tolerance were far beyond human limits.
Name: Andorian Imperial Guard
Weapon Type: Phaser weapon
Armour Type: Medium armour
Maximum range: sniper Rifle Range
Preferred range: assault rifle range
Classification: professional line infantry
Many years ago the Andorian species broke away from the Federation despite being one of its founding members. Yet through all the years, the Andorian Imperium and the Federation have been nothing but close allies; held together by strong economic, political and military bonds. The Andorians ally with the Federation, going forth to fight under their banner
The Andorian Imperial guard are the toughest that Andor has to offer; men and women raised from birth to do nothing but fight with just about anything they can get their hands on. They hail from a warrior society but unlike the Klingons despise pointless grabs at glory and value strategy as much as strength.
Andorian Plasma rifle—Like the Klingons the Andorians don’t believe in their weapons having a stun function. These weapons are very high powered compared to Federation phasers though they go through the battery much faster. Like compression rifles they sync up with the warrior’s suit to provide a sniper function.
Andorian plasma pistol
Ushan-Tor—A large crescent shaped knife, the Ushan-tor was as ubiquitous as IPhones anywhere here on earth. Andorians used them for mining and carving through the kilometers thick ice that covered their home world as well as ritual duels to the death that happen more often than in Andrew Jackson’s neck of the woods.
Given that they kill one another all the time with these weapons, the Andorians are experts with them; the Imperial Guard more so.
Chaka—Functionally alike to an Indian Katar, the chaka was a large dagger like weapon with two folding collapsible side blades good for either attack or defence. The blades are monomolecular and crafted from strong Idisha steel.
Photon grenade—See MACO, though theirs are always set to kill.
Guard Uniform—The Imperial guard uniform is nearly identical in protection to the Hazard suit. It offers most of the same protections and utilities; being also vacuum rated.
Natural resilience—While they may not have the Klingon’s multiple organs; Andorians are extremophiles who can thrive in very severe conditions. On their home world they routinely walked in sub-zero temperatures with very little clothing or need to keep warm and were even able to survive happily for days in environments hot enough to make water boil. The species also possessed very tough skins, providing some protection against knives and melee attacks as well as making hypodermic needles worthless.
Name: Hazard Team
Weapon Type: Phaser weapon
Armour Type: Advanced Hazard suit
Maximum range: sniper Rifle Range
Preferred range: any
Classification: Deep space paramilitary organization
Lost in deep space for Seven Years, the Hazard team would prove critical to the survival of the Starship Voyager several times. Though initially disbanded upon return to the Federation, hardened and adaptable enemies called for a flexible and highly trained force who could handle such threats; thus the Hazard team became a Federation wide task force.
Recruited from every species with the physical and mental abilities to get the job done, only the best are accepted for the Hazard team. With them comes the Federation’s cutting edge weapons and utility technology; soon the enemies of the Federation will learn to fear the sound of a transporter.
Compound Grenade Launcher—A high accuracy, high powered explosive weapon that fired energy grenades at targets; able to take out multiple grouped enemies in the splash. The weapon like nearly all federation weapons could either be set to stun or kill.
The gun had a secondary setting where a sticky version of the grenades could be launched that would only trigger when a hostile steps on or near the grenade.
Quantum Burst—An upgrade over the photon launcher, the Quantum burst fires miniature Quantum torpedoes to blast apart groups of enemies or tear through hardened targets. These easy to manufacture warheads use a zero point energy reaction to rip through both shields and hardened armour.
Designed originally as an anti-borg weapon they are superior to photon torpedoes and will gradually replace photon bursts through the Federation ground forces.
Enhanced Compression Rifle—Similar to the regular compression rifle but possesses a higher rate of fire by a factor of two as well as a nose mounted grenade launcher which can be equipped with nearly any type of grenade.
I-MOD (Infinity Modulator)—A weapon developed very specifically as an anti-borg weapon; this gun built by the talented seven of nine has also proven useful against rapidly evolving and mutating biological foes. The weapon essentially fires its energy on infinite, random frequencies; preventing Borg and other adaptive foes from hard countering the weapon with personal shields or other adaptive measures.
Unlike other Federation weapons the I-MOD is strictly lethal and unfortunately uses up the battery pack much faster than most phaser weapons; so use is sparring.
Etherian Stasis weapon—A gift from a peaceful but well-armed race that Voyager encountered in the Delta quadrant; the Stasis weapon is a biomechanical weapon which disables a target by neutrally charging its matter to encase it in a stasis field. A few shots from the weapon will stun a target while more than five shots will disintegrate the target by ripping apart the weak and strong atomic forces holding it together.
The weapon has a secondary fire button which launches a fire burst shotgun blast which will instantly kill at the cost of increased battery drain.
Quantum Grenade Mortar—Similar to Photon Mortar. More powerful and useful against heavily armoured targets.
Federation Assault Rifle—See MACO
Phaser pistol—See MACO
Hazard Suit MK2—This version of the Hazard suit boasts superior medial technology which can heal near fatal injuries without a combat medic and at considerably less energy drain to the suit. More sophisticated tricorder interface allows Hazard team members to possess a radar field with an Identify Friend Foe system; much like a Spartan II’s radar display.
The transporter buffer can also hold fifty kilograms more capacity as well as hold objects for longer.
or, enter your birth date.
Author's note: The characters Maztil and Baxterchen belong to I'm just borrowing them.
For those not in the know this story contains shota, non-con and violence and cursing. This is some highly controversial subject matter so don't enter unless you're into that kind of stuff.
All constructive criticism is welcome and enjoyed. Thank you.
So unless you clicked the back button, on with the show.
The clock struck thirteen in the vampire’s lair. The twenty four hour clock chimed a little electronic jingle that was more guaranteed to annoy than it was to strike terror into visitors in this blood sucker’s den.
Over on the wall, a ratty old Santana poster fell down off its perch of many years. The poster landed among a stack of shitty Harlequin bodice ripper novels. Opposite where the poster used to be was another poster of wrestling legend Hulk Hogan with his twenty-four inch python hanging out of his pants.
In the center of the room was a large oak desk much too tacky to be either gothic or intimidating. Perhaps this was for the best, as the over the top skull engraved desk fitted the polyester clad man who sat behind it.
The man in a blue synthetic fabric suit and oily hair lay unmoving in his fine leather chair. A human might have assumed that he was dead, but for a vampire this was the equivalent of an afternoon nap. Given that it was only one o’clock in the afternoon, little naps like these were what allowed the vampire to function for his primarily diurnal work shifts.
Big hairy hands, much too large for the vampire’s relatively small frame hid his face. As he sat perfectly still, statue like unmoving, another vampire approached him.
The diminutive figure physically took the form of an eight year old, dark skinned and crimson eyed; striking white hair bobbing with each step. The smaller vampire strutted like an experienced street walker, hinting at things no eight year old should go through and a kind of forbidden sexuality that’s only permitted in the highest levels of the Catholic Church.
Chin barely reaching the top of the tacky oak desk, the shota vampire shifted in his translucent leggings and furry boots. Supple yet firm flesh moved and tensed with each twist of his posture; the face was calm but there was turmoil under the surface.
Gently, the boy shaped vampire reached out and poked. A tiny tan finger with a well-manicured nail poked the large hairy hands of the dormant vampire. No reaction whatsoever ensued.
Frowning, the boy poked harder at the hands over the man vampire’s face. Once more there was no sign of life.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, the boy narrowed his crimson eyes. He began to reach out towards the vampire’s blood and mustard stained Ren and Stimpy tie. Yanking as hard as he could, the man vampire in front of him shot forward and slammed his face violently into the desk.
The vampire shot up like there was a spring in his spine. Unshaven, tired features contorted into an almost comical monkey’s grin of anger. “Why you mother fucker! I’ll rip your tits off!” One hand waved wildly in the air and from under his desk he drew an ornate, stupidly long broadsword.
The older vampire’s features softened a bit with recognition. “Oh, it’s you,” he put down the sword and began to adjust his much loved and poorly washed necktie. Grumbling to himself he glanced at his twenty four hour clock. “You’re twenty minutes late, kid. Bill Von Carstein doesn’t run a school.”
“Oi, did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” the child vampire asked in a high voice that made better men than Bill grit their teeth with either lust or anger. “I fink you might be all sixes and seven.”
Bill narrowed his eyes at the boy, “What the fuck does that mean?” he suddenly thrust the palm of his hand into the boy’s face. “Never mind, I don’t give a shit. Pay up or else.”
Grousing, the boy rummaged through his pockets while mumbling about a crimbo party and a cobbler’s awls. Finally, the scowling brat threw a handful of crumpled plastic notes on the oak desk.
The older, greasier vampire looked at the mess on his prized second hand desk and laughed after a few seconds. “Very funny, motherfucker; now where’s the money?”
“First of all,” the boy shouted as he pointed a finger at Bill, “you fucking iron hoof, my name is Maztil and you will call me proper by it or I’ll gouge your eyes out.” He stood up to the entirely of his four odd feet and slapped the crumpled plastic notes. “And fucking second, this is the money.”
Several emotions flashed across Bill’s face like the stages of acceptance. First there was denial that this was the money he was promised. Then there was anger that the little shit was fucking with him. Bargaining came in the form of thoughts of torture that he could use to get his cash. Then came depression when he thought that the boy must be broke and he couldn’t be able to buy a new pack of condoms today. Finally there was acceptance that this whole fucking day had been wasted.
Bill took a deep breath and pointed out behind Maztil, “Well, thanks for the play money. There’s the door; now get the fuck out.”
“Don’t get two and eight, ya sceptic tank!” Maztil scolded, “This is real money! Australian money; they’ll be running the world in a few short years.”
The facepalm that Bill made was epic, “Fucking crocodile Dundee money; piece of piss.”
“Hey! This plastic money the Aussie’s built will last longa than the old yank paper money! So shut yer gob.”
Bill groaned, if worst came to worst he could use this stuff to buy American greenbacks at the currency exchange downtown. “Fine,” he signed, “Fine, fine fine; you’ve got exactly ten minutes of my time. Speak your fucking piece before I get off my ass to learn if the down under money is on parity with American currency.”
As Bill leaned back in his chair, Maztil’s sharp features softened imperceptibly; as if there was a heart wrapped up in that gluttonous, horny little shota package.
Maztil flashes through his own five stages of emotion, though unlike Bill his inner workings were a bit harder to parse out. “It’s my . . .” the words caught in his throat and for a moment the cockney accent slipped, “My father . . . I mean my da’ was doing bird lime when the Martians took London and bubble wrapped the city in a Rome.”
Bill nodded his head and pretended he understood or cared. “Sure.”
Maztil kept his tone even, “so right now, my pot and pan is stuck in an energy dome and I need you to call a friend to call a friend to bring down a fucking storm of hellfire down and free my father.”
Adjusting his Ren and Stimpy tie, Bill took Maztil’s request under heavy consideration. “Well, it’s been fun. Now there’s the door.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU CUNT!” Maztil screamed as he slammed a fist on the desk. “Baxterchen is the only person in this fucking world that I love, he’s all I’ve got and I’ll kill you ten times over if you don’t give me what I want!!”
Sighing, Bill leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. Based on the young man’s outburst; he really was a child in every sense; he can’t have been one of the undead more than a decade. He gazed upon the lad with appraising eyes. “Child, I’m sure it feels like love to you. It sure felt like love to me when someone fooled me into thinking that I was special and worthy of affection; it’s called grooming. I was groomed, you were groomed, it’s universal.”
He gave out a loud and surprisingly womanish laugh, “But I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or validate you in any way. You deliver, I deliver; you do a few favours for me and then I turn into your genie, your willing slave.”
Maztil leaned forward, eagerness and bloodlust filling his eyes. “Name your price, Billy boy. You can Adam and Eve that I’ll give yer my last Able and Willing.”
William “Bill” Von Carstein stood up from his overstuffed, second hand chair and put a hand to his fly. Maztil was no stranger to cocks fat and thin, big and small; but he was in for a shock when Bill yanked out what looked like the largest python in the world.
His penis was the size of a Subway club wrap and it slammed down on Bill’s desk as though it were made of pure tungsten. The twenty inch, uncut snake suddenly stood up like it smelt food. The foreskin pulled back slightly to show the purple head and the greasy vampire awkwardly pulled out his hairy bag of magic to complete the act.
There was no foreplay or neither warning, nor power fantasies nor insults. He was straight to the point. “SUCK BILL CARSTEIN’S COCK!” He shouted while his eyes bulged.
The tiny shota vamp was caught off guard as Bill grabbed him by the neck and yanked him onto the dong of kings. Drool leaked from Maztil’s lips; stretched thin as could be. He struggled to let out a retching noise, not because he was really gagging but because it helped him get into the mood. And goddamn if he wasn’t horny as fuck. It’d had been nearly a day since he’d last gotten any action.
Thrusting his hips, Bill purred like a jaguar and bared fangs; breathe reeking of alcohol and cannabis. “With your help I will lower the standards of the earth!”
The older man began to aggressively rape the face of the vamp child before him. Little did he notice that Maztil’s cute little cut cock was hard as fucking diamond and leaking precum like a busted faucet. Sucking like his life depended on it; Maztil’s only wish was that his father could be here to throat fuck him. After all, Baxterchen was the only vampire with a dick bigger than the ugly Carstein before him.
Bill’s tong lolled out and he laughed at his own shititude. “I will fill the televisions with two hundred channels of American gladiators!” he tossed his head around and purred once more. “I will enslave all teenage girls and make them tongue buff my asshole.” Saliva flowed down from Bill’s gaping maw and stained his necktie. “And they will love me for it!”
Maztils’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as the larger man used him as a cock-sleeve. The sheer debauchery of it arousing him to no end; he began to furiously and enthusiastically masturbate and finger his ass at the same time. Feeling of euphoria and pleasure rippled through his lithe form and Maztil had no desire for it to stop.
Meanwhile, Bill was coming close to his end and his pumping and moving was becoming more and more erratic. “People will think that I am deep, edgy and charismatic!” He let out a purr that turned into a bestial roar as he fired his goo into Maztil’s mouth.
He fell backwards as the young shota vampire was thrown forwards by the volume and velocity of the pale injection. Truthfully, Maztil didn’t know what kind of pills Bill Carstein was taking but he wanted them.
Chuckling weakly, Bill stuffed his cock back into his TARDIS pants and zipped up his fly. “That was great, kid. Tell you what, I’ll be nice. I’ll throw in a freebie just for that great performance of yours.”
Like a flash of lightning, a cum stained Maztil pounced on Bill and pinned his arms to the sides of his chair. A truly predatorial look came across the boy vamp’s face as he laughed a nasty little laugh. “Well now that you’ve said that . . .”
He trailed off as he threw bill to the ground and tore pants off him with a swipe of taloned fingers. “I’m going to fuck you. Don’t take it personally,” he held out his small erection like a dagger “I need that warm fuzzy feeling; I could just as easily do this with a watermelon.”
He laughed a shrill, high pitched cackle as he forced himself into Bill Carstein’s anus. The older male shrieked in pain and clawed at the floor.
Maztil hummed deeply in his throat and threw back his head, “Take it, bitch! Take it deep!” He drove it into his victim like the stinger of a parasitic wasp. It was pure domination and physical need; his insides were tight, pulling him in and it definitely gave Maztil the tingling he so craved.
The one brief moment, Bill’s hole clenched too hard and there was too much pull and a deep, warm feeling came through Maztil’s gut. The shota vamp gasped as he “threw his batarang.”
The lad gasped and straightened, looking for all the world disappointed in himself and slightly confused. “Uh . . . do me a cheesy, eh; next time don’t show off yer’ cavalier! The sight of her ‘uncircumcised got me distracted.”
Bill looked up and his eyes met Maztil’s.
A kind of sad, vacant smile had come over Carstein’s face; like some alien’s poor impression of a human smile who’d never met a human being or vampire in person. Eyes were devoid of any kind of warmth or pleasure and they locked unblinkingly on Maztil.
“Nobody’s ever done that for me,” said Bill in a trembling yet affectionate voice. “Nobody’s ever topped me, even when I asked. Have no fear, Maztil; I’m a man of my word. Your father will be safe and sound.”
With that, Bill let out a truly woman-ish giggle and dissolved into pink mist where his mist form flew into the overhead vent.
Maztil’s jaw dropped, still dripping in Carstein’s cum. “The fuck did I get meself into?” he asked.
Under an energy bubble over the ruined city of Rome, a lich spoke to an androgynous cyborg of some kind. But it wasn’t just any lich. It was a giant, rat anthro lich with a loin cloth that did as little to conceal his junk as the steam from a morning shower.
The androgyne cyborg looked at the furry vampire with confusion and nervousness.
Baxterchen meanwhile was burning with barely contained enthusiasm and belief in his own superiority. “Alrights, ins exactly two hundred and fifteen seconds the Martians will beam down a third legions of biomechanoids. When they's do that, I’ll head out to the rubble that used to be the Vaticans and I’ll begin reading from the Necronomicons. You will follow me and see's that I’m not tailed. And this guy that I’ve knowns for six months will follow you.”
The adnrogynoid questioned the plan, “Uh, Baxterchen . . . are you planning to summon the old ones?”
Baxterchen enthusiastically and energetically shook his pointy head, “Yes! You practically reads my mind, Charlie!”
“And how does this help us survive the aliens dumping an unknowable amount of fire and heat into this bubble?”
At this Baxterchen suddenly grew furious and his eyes glowed red, “Look, fuck the zombies apocalypse; I’ve been preparing for an alien invasions since the sixteenth century. I’ve been ready for this moments for three hundred years; so don’t fuck this up or I will definitely unscrew your head.”
Charlie held up his/her hands and pleaded for peace, “Alright, alright; I’m with you. I’m on board.”
The anthro-vamp grinned, “Alright, Chuck; let’s make history.”
Current Residence: British Columbia|
Print preference: The Pen
Favourite genre of music: Heavy Metal
Favourite photographer: N/A
Favourite style of art: fan art and HR Geiger
Operating System: dunno
Favourite cartoon character: Tintin
Personal Quote: Andrew Breitbart likes to fuck children to death with cacti while fantasising about fisting his mother in the ass. Just throwing that out there.