Superiority, Inferiority, & Other Lies the Universe tells
Mar 9, 2024 1:11:44 GMT -5
flo, "The High Roller" Wesley Crane, and 1 more like this
Post by Oblivion Death Squad on Mar 9, 2024 1:11:44 GMT -5
Inside an ancient stone courtyard overgrown with vines and moss, overlooked by jungle trees that stared down on the carvings of beasts and gods stood long rows of men. A cold rain fell on the men, and they didn’t seem to care they just stared ahead. Each of these men wore masks, from crude affairs to elaborate ones.
But they stood in pairs, the masks always mirroring the one at their sides. Always two, always a pair, never more.
Down the center of these lines passed three figures, two of them were big brutes. They ignored the cold rain falling on them and running off their black fatigues. They were skull masks, and they watched the men around them without a word. The other was lean, smaller though somehow full of menace. Rain run in rivulets down the long leather coat he wore, and made it gleam in the cold light of the moon. A hood covered his face, though when he turned it revealed a metal mask with rain dripping from it.
He hissed, and mist swirled from the mask before he spoke in a cold empty voice that rang through the courtyard.
‘Superior? Inferior? These words have no meaning to us. We are the Children of the Fall, we are the Servants of the Pit, we are the Heralds of the Void. Superior and inferior are the judgments of men, of mortals, and we are beyond that.’
The men all snapped their gaze towards the Scourge like dogs hearing their master’s voice. He lifted a hand, and paced slowly before he growled once more.
‘We have a duty to cull the weak, we have a duty to see the world reborn in flames! We are as gods! We stand apart from people like these rabble who claim some right of blood! You see creatures like Dreienhalb exist by mere chance, by the mere whims of fate, but we have been chosen! We have been created! And so when the Oblivion Death Squad walk into Dublin, we will make them pay for what they have done! We will show them how false their claims of superiority are in the face of creatures like us!’
The Footsoldiers of Apocalypse stomped their feet as one, the sound echoing across the ancient courtyard. The sound filled the dark skies, and the Scourge stared at them with a slow nod before he hissed.
‘These men, these boys, these fucking whelps enter our house! Enter our domain, and they mewl and preen while telling that insufferable buffoon Rude of their uncle! And their training at the hands of Alex Wright?’
A snort, and Donzig spat through his mask. And his hand lifted, pointing angrily to where a crumbling stone temple sat in the jungle. Lightning flashed across the sky, and wet stone gleamed as he snarled.
‘We trained in the bowels of that Temple, we trained in the shadows of the Old Gods, we paid the Masters with blood and hunger! In this courtyard, games were played with life and death! The fate of worlds was decided on the toss of ball, and the losers were sacrificed to appease the hungers of those beyond! That is our legacy, that is what we fight for! All of creation, all of the weight of the Sport of Kings rests on us! On us!
And these fools think they are somehow on our level? No, no, no! That will not stand! And do they think that I can not see what they are really about? Why they are here? Do they think I can not smell the stench of their allies on them? Fagh!’
Donzig glared, and his minions said nothing as they stared at one another. Rain and wind lashed across them, and Donzig nodded slowly as he paced back and forth.
‘At Dublin, Dreienhalb will learn how meaningless their words, how empty their claims, and the Oblivion Death Squad will add more victims to the names of those carved on the walls of the Abyss! We bring order to Chaos, we are the hands of Judgment, and we have no fucking equals!’
The men nodded at that, and Donzig stood between Mormo and Moloch. His hand lifted to wipe his wrist across the slits of his mask, and he flicked the rain away as he moved forward. He walked up and down the silent rows, and the eyes of those masks followed him. He turned and came back forward again.
‘Dreienhalb will learn that the Death Squad bears the names of devils, because Hell is empty! And then they will learn their superiority? Is just another lie that told by a cold uncaring universe, that Dreienhalb is not chosen, they are not superior, and they are not beloved by fate or some god! They will discover that they, just like everyone else who stands in our way? ARE FUCKING MEAT!’
The men roar as one, the sound echoing across the courtyard and the jungle around it. A sound to rival the storm that raged over them. And Donzig nodded, and he turned once more as he stood between his favored minions.
‘When did a dragon ever die from the poison of a snake?’
The Scourge hissed, and he waved a hand.
‘Nietzsche of course.’
Moloch nodded, and Donzig snorted before he turned to walk off once more. A hand waved, and he growled to Mormo.
‘Jakob. Jaime. Mormo, say the words.’
Mormo nodded, a fist hitting his chest as he bowed his head. They all did as one, and the words were growled into the storm.
‘Shihemi se shpejti.’
But they stood in pairs, the masks always mirroring the one at their sides. Always two, always a pair, never more.
Down the center of these lines passed three figures, two of them were big brutes. They ignored the cold rain falling on them and running off their black fatigues. They were skull masks, and they watched the men around them without a word. The other was lean, smaller though somehow full of menace. Rain run in rivulets down the long leather coat he wore, and made it gleam in the cold light of the moon. A hood covered his face, though when he turned it revealed a metal mask with rain dripping from it.
He hissed, and mist swirled from the mask before he spoke in a cold empty voice that rang through the courtyard.
‘Superior? Inferior? These words have no meaning to us. We are the Children of the Fall, we are the Servants of the Pit, we are the Heralds of the Void. Superior and inferior are the judgments of men, of mortals, and we are beyond that.’
The men all snapped their gaze towards the Scourge like dogs hearing their master’s voice. He lifted a hand, and paced slowly before he growled once more.
‘We have a duty to cull the weak, we have a duty to see the world reborn in flames! We are as gods! We stand apart from people like these rabble who claim some right of blood! You see creatures like Dreienhalb exist by mere chance, by the mere whims of fate, but we have been chosen! We have been created! And so when the Oblivion Death Squad walk into Dublin, we will make them pay for what they have done! We will show them how false their claims of superiority are in the face of creatures like us!’
The Footsoldiers of Apocalypse stomped their feet as one, the sound echoing across the ancient courtyard. The sound filled the dark skies, and the Scourge stared at them with a slow nod before he hissed.
‘These men, these boys, these fucking whelps enter our house! Enter our domain, and they mewl and preen while telling that insufferable buffoon Rude of their uncle! And their training at the hands of Alex Wright?’
A snort, and Donzig spat through his mask. And his hand lifted, pointing angrily to where a crumbling stone temple sat in the jungle. Lightning flashed across the sky, and wet stone gleamed as he snarled.
‘We trained in the bowels of that Temple, we trained in the shadows of the Old Gods, we paid the Masters with blood and hunger! In this courtyard, games were played with life and death! The fate of worlds was decided on the toss of ball, and the losers were sacrificed to appease the hungers of those beyond! That is our legacy, that is what we fight for! All of creation, all of the weight of the Sport of Kings rests on us! On us!
And these fools think they are somehow on our level? No, no, no! That will not stand! And do they think that I can not see what they are really about? Why they are here? Do they think I can not smell the stench of their allies on them? Fagh!’
Donzig glared, and his minions said nothing as they stared at one another. Rain and wind lashed across them, and Donzig nodded slowly as he paced back and forth.
‘At Dublin, Dreienhalb will learn how meaningless their words, how empty their claims, and the Oblivion Death Squad will add more victims to the names of those carved on the walls of the Abyss! We bring order to Chaos, we are the hands of Judgment, and we have no fucking equals!’
The men nodded at that, and Donzig stood between Mormo and Moloch. His hand lifted to wipe his wrist across the slits of his mask, and he flicked the rain away as he moved forward. He walked up and down the silent rows, and the eyes of those masks followed him. He turned and came back forward again.
‘Dreienhalb will learn that the Death Squad bears the names of devils, because Hell is empty! And then they will learn their superiority? Is just another lie that told by a cold uncaring universe, that Dreienhalb is not chosen, they are not superior, and they are not beloved by fate or some god! They will discover that they, just like everyone else who stands in our way? ARE FUCKING MEAT!’
The men roar as one, the sound echoing across the courtyard and the jungle around it. A sound to rival the storm that raged over them. And Donzig nodded, and he turned once more as he stood between his favored minions.
‘When did a dragon ever die from the poison of a snake?’
The Scourge hissed, and he waved a hand.
‘Nietzsche of course.’
Moloch nodded, and Donzig snorted before he turned to walk off once more. A hand waved, and he growled to Mormo.
‘Jakob. Jaime. Mormo, say the words.’
Mormo nodded, a fist hitting his chest as he bowed his head. They all did as one, and the words were growled into the storm.
‘Shihemi se shpejti.’
