Post by comradechris on Oct 20, 2013 11:27:45 GMT 8
“I will find you. I will always find you!”
These were the only words that the half-orc could manage before his lungs began to fill with blood, thanks to the three crossbow bolts sticking out of his chest. He collapses to his knees, and reaches out towards his one true love, who was being abducted by the cultists whom he escaped from many years ago.
“Oh I don’t think so, half-breed,” scoffs one of the cultists. “Two reasons. One, you remember that ritual you ran away from? We’re going to perform it on her. A pure and kind hearted soul like hers? It’ll work like a charm! And she’ll be so far gone she won’t even remember you. And two, you can’t find her if you’re dead!”
The cultist flings a vial of alchemist’s fire at a wooden support beam, which begins to burn as he leaves, laughing victoriously.
The half-orc’s mind races as his shed begins to burn while he bleeds to death. No, he would not give up. While others spurned and mocked him, she was the only one who cared for him and loved him. True to what the cultist said, she was an angel among mortals. He could not abandon her. But how? He could not move quickly enough and surely the fire would consume him. No, there was one way. A bold and desperate measure.
Using his own blood he reverses one of the runes in his summoning circle, and vanishes just as his shed collapses.
He opens his eyes, and wishes that he had not. He was in a birthplace of nightmares. He beheld creatures of terror, worse than devils and demons. His mind reels at the thought that he was going to summon a companion from this swarm of horrors, and faints.
Fading in and out of consciousness, he vaguely registers what transpires.
“What is this, Abathur?”
“Source of call.”
“Interesting, I’ve never seen its like before. See what it wants. And try not to let it die. We’d be poor hosts if we didn’t know how to look after our guests.”
Immediately he was wracked with pain, both physically and mentally as his mind was probed while his body repaired. Images of his life flashed by as his mind was read like an open book.
“He reminds me of you, my Queen. He has taken great risks, just as you had when you went to Zerus, so you could rescue Jim Raynor.”
“True, Izsha. But I am more interested in those he calls demons. Their abilities could greatly aid the Swarm in our fight against Amon. Abathur, do what you can to help him succeed while making sure that we get the genetic samples we need.”
“Agreed. Demonic genetic strands worthy of study. Proceeding with augmentation of porcine-human hybrid.”
Moments ago, his body was being repaired. Now, it was flayed open. He tried to scream but he could not, for his body could no longer function in this state of reconstruction. He was a prisoner in his own body as it was slowly being taken apart.
“Subject genetic structure unable to support gene assimilation function. Will improvise. Will place part of subject into host capable of gene assimilation. Subject benefits from gene assimilation due to link with host. Host will bear stress of gene assimilation. Host is linked to Swarm. Swarm attains genetic information.”
His consciousness abruptly ends as every fibre of his being is unwound.
“Evolution complete.”
In the middle of the night, something falls from the sky and lands in the middle of a ruined, burned down shed. It is a spherical cocoon. It pulsates rhythmically throughout the night and at sunrise, it ruptures. Two forms, a half-orc and a strange alien creature, emerge. The half-orc spots something in the ruins and picks it up. It is a necklace. He closes his palm around it and places it against his heart.
“I will find you,” he whispers.
His alien companion looks ahead into the distance, and hisses, “I will always find you.”
These were the only words that the half-orc could manage before his lungs began to fill with blood, thanks to the three crossbow bolts sticking out of his chest. He collapses to his knees, and reaches out towards his one true love, who was being abducted by the cultists whom he escaped from many years ago.
“Oh I don’t think so, half-breed,” scoffs one of the cultists. “Two reasons. One, you remember that ritual you ran away from? We’re going to perform it on her. A pure and kind hearted soul like hers? It’ll work like a charm! And she’ll be so far gone she won’t even remember you. And two, you can’t find her if you’re dead!”
The cultist flings a vial of alchemist’s fire at a wooden support beam, which begins to burn as he leaves, laughing victoriously.
The half-orc’s mind races as his shed begins to burn while he bleeds to death. No, he would not give up. While others spurned and mocked him, she was the only one who cared for him and loved him. True to what the cultist said, she was an angel among mortals. He could not abandon her. But how? He could not move quickly enough and surely the fire would consume him. No, there was one way. A bold and desperate measure.
Using his own blood he reverses one of the runes in his summoning circle, and vanishes just as his shed collapses.
He opens his eyes, and wishes that he had not. He was in a birthplace of nightmares. He beheld creatures of terror, worse than devils and demons. His mind reels at the thought that he was going to summon a companion from this swarm of horrors, and faints.
Fading in and out of consciousness, he vaguely registers what transpires.
“What is this, Abathur?”
“Source of call.”
“Interesting, I’ve never seen its like before. See what it wants. And try not to let it die. We’d be poor hosts if we didn’t know how to look after our guests.”
Immediately he was wracked with pain, both physically and mentally as his mind was probed while his body repaired. Images of his life flashed by as his mind was read like an open book.
“He reminds me of you, my Queen. He has taken great risks, just as you had when you went to Zerus, so you could rescue Jim Raynor.”
“True, Izsha. But I am more interested in those he calls demons. Their abilities could greatly aid the Swarm in our fight against Amon. Abathur, do what you can to help him succeed while making sure that we get the genetic samples we need.”
“Agreed. Demonic genetic strands worthy of study. Proceeding with augmentation of porcine-human hybrid.”
Moments ago, his body was being repaired. Now, it was flayed open. He tried to scream but he could not, for his body could no longer function in this state of reconstruction. He was a prisoner in his own body as it was slowly being taken apart.
“Subject genetic structure unable to support gene assimilation function. Will improvise. Will place part of subject into host capable of gene assimilation. Subject benefits from gene assimilation due to link with host. Host will bear stress of gene assimilation. Host is linked to Swarm. Swarm attains genetic information.”
His consciousness abruptly ends as every fibre of his being is unwound.
“Evolution complete.”
In the middle of the night, something falls from the sky and lands in the middle of a ruined, burned down shed. It is a spherical cocoon. It pulsates rhythmically throughout the night and at sunrise, it ruptures. Two forms, a half-orc and a strange alien creature, emerge. The half-orc spots something in the ruins and picks it up. It is a necklace. He closes his palm around it and places it against his heart.
“I will find you,” he whispers.
His alien companion looks ahead into the distance, and hisses, “I will always find you.”
