The last week had been good for Galatea– downright
intoxicating even!
She had power.
True power!
Her gang and growing mastery of her powers, now that she wasn't risking angry mobs or temporary crippling and starvation with them, meant she'd chainsworded through The Fingers. Tearing them to pieces and accomplishing what no one– not even the Arbites, had: Bring them to their knees! Make them scamper off into the darkness to lick their wounds like her and hers had been forced to so often!
They even started to give her a name too: The Black Hand.
Oh, sure. They weren't anywhere close to being exterminated, but that was irrelevant. She wasn't here to kill them to the last, only use them as feedstock for Lamu's rituals so they could get out of here. Which was the only thing harshing her high, the deadline was coming ever closer but they had yet to leave so much as the underhive.
Lamu had promised one last roadblock and they'd be free from this pit, however.
"I," Speaking of the tiny draconic gremlin, "Have finished divining our next target!" She stood proud and 'tall' in the pool at the centre of the base, the still-unidentified liquid dripping off her in rather suggestive ways as symbols of their overboss burned along her skin.
The declaration was celebrated by Gand's enthused clapping, the centaur looking over the moon at her mistress' success. Just as she always did wherever Lamu did anything vaguely impressive.
"Mmmrph~," The goat twin resting her head on Ariel's lap stirred from her slumber at the sound, "Iz it time t' go?"
"Perhaps," The second goat said from where she was practising her dancing, "It all depends on our mistress, brother dear." To be completely honest, Galatea still wasn't sure why they kept switching who was the sister and who was the brother. Probably thought it was funny.
Today it was Phyr's time to be a brother, and Al's to be the sister, which meant it was Phyr practising and Al getting pampered by the muse.
Speaking of Ariel she… "Oh, you were looking for the last fragment of the ritual, no?" Looked
different. Her face and body were pretty much the same, but now she sported a pair of horns, as well as a tufted tail with a large band of gold apparently stuck floating around it.
This was apparently her 'true' form. And the one that she'd been using until then had been to avoid Galatea panicking at the sight of her. She had intended to drop the facade after Lamu and co got summoned, but they all knew how that'd gone.
The witch, for her own part, just liked how the sloping gold collar looked on
her muse and the way the shimmering deep purple and magenta fog draped on her body. Parabolic linen, the neverborn had called it, made from the flax grown in some sort of dream-river. Galatea called it pretty, especially the way its ribbons were woven into a toga of little diamond patterns, which had the
mysterious habit of flickering away to give her little windows into porcelain skin.
She'd need to make some time to see how molestable her muse's new features were, but for now they had work to do.
"Ara-Ara~, it seems our leader has decided that we were indeed leaving," J'pai cooed as she slithered away from the fire spit she'd set up. The snake woman had quickly taken over cooking duties after an attempt from Gand that… well, the fact that Ariel sent most of it to Green said enough. Why Lamu ate her entire portion, Galatea would never know.
"Then, what exactly is the plan, mistress?" M'lle asked.
The witch had figured out many, many things about her new gang. Lamu's brashness, Gand's incredible singing, J'pai's motherly tendencies, the twin's switches… but the centipede woman remained a complete mystery to her.
"How is she supposed to have one when I've yet to say anything!?" The Alluress shouted as she wiped the liquid off of her, "This last ritual site will allow us to move unseen, unheard and unharmed up the Hive– in part because it will take place…
here."
Extending a finger, a map of blood, smoke and flames formed in the air. Showing that the last ritual ground was not just in the middle of Hook territory, but also inside of a massive shaft.
"Going to be tougher than usual, rumours say they guard that tooth and nail. Nobody agrees why." Everything from being their boss' throne room to them using it to trade with the cogboys up in the hive proper. She didn't have any good data on the area, either, waaay too deep in their turf and she hadn't exactly been focused on interrogation while ripping through The Fingers. "We'll just sneak in as usual and go from there once we get eyes on them."
The sneaking was going well so far…
too well, even.
There'd been some patrols to avoid at first, but as she headed deeper and deeper into the Hook's territory? It'd been over an hour since she'd seen one– or anyone really. Something was wrong. Not necessarily a trap, it could even be the sort of wrong that went in her favour,
but something was wrong.
'Ariel, can you make your invisibility more complete?' She needed a scout here and her muse was both invisible and easily teleported back to her side.
'
I should be able to,' The muse spoke back through the link
, 'But I'll have to borrow some of your strength.'
'Do it.' Not like she would be doing much while Ariel was away, just hiding deep in the nest of pipes and vents. Warp Speed, as she'd been told her speed spell was formally called, would stay on just in case. But otherwise she had power she could spare.
The already mostly invisible Ariel disappeared even further, an incredibly faint shimmering indicating where she was, before even that vanished as she slunk off.
Galatea couldn't see through her muse's eyes, only feel her emotions– and how they grew fainter as the distance between them grew as well.
Caution.
Wariness.
Anticipation.
That and a few more errant feelings fed the witch all the information she needed to know. Especially as confusion began to tinge their link, until it was all that remained. From what she could tell, based on distance and her mental map, Ariel was nearly on top of their goal as she paused. The witch really, really, really didn't like this. It felt like peering into a shaft into the bottom levels. It being empty only made the anxiety all the worse, because there
should be monsters there.
She felt a sort of wiggling? A bit hard to fully understand, but based on everything so far, Ariel was most likely asking if she ought to return, or continue. After worrying her lip for a few moments, she sent back a small push to keep going. This was the safer option.
It took a bit of time before the muse began moving again, slooooowly inching further and further towards the lift– until she completely stopped in her tracks, a spike of confusion and apprehension filling her.
"Filthy, disrespectful curs!"
Getting to the shaft had been as creepy, weird and unnerving as Ariel had told her. The entire section of the underhive, inhabited by the Hook and their subsidiaries, was utterly devoid of any life.
"The true wisdom of this world, 'To always obey those above thy station', does it truly mean naught to you!?"
Vanishings were rare, but they did happen– it wasn't one of those. Those always had signs of violence, or hurry. Bullet casings, blood splatters, burn marks, half eaten meals, an unfinished job…
There wasn't any of that here. Everything was clean and orderly, from the tables, free of clutter, to the lack of any sort of litter– hell, there weren't even any suspicious bloodstains anywhere! In gang territory! But worst of all, every single shrine to the Emperor was in
perfect order. Polished to a sheen, with offerings and burning candles covering them.
She wasn't liking where the line of connected dots was pointing to, not at all.
Especially when she came into view of what her muse had described to her: The entirety of the section, all gathered in the shaft and unto what seemed to be a truly ancient elevator platform, now reworked into both a church to the Emperor and a gang's seat of power.
"It must! For we instructed you to ensure that this wisdom be spread far and wide into this vile pit of rejects! To spread His wisdom to those barely worth witnessing his light!"
Every single one of them was killing themselves. Flagellation, self-immolation, jumping off the platform… and a few other methods she'd rather not think about. Eagerly, too, except for the handful who didn't have the Hook's colours, "We, the bearers of His words, of His light, sought to be
understanding! Such an undertaking is no easy task when heretics, mutants and witches fill these depths, and yet! You allowed a single force, a mere group of seven foul mutants to undo your fathers, your fathers' fathers and their fathers before them's work! The work of GENERATIONS! RUINED! Now attone! Attone with your lives!"
…It was kind of sad that these people were doing her gang's job for her. There was a small corner of her mind that sounded suspiciously like the old lady, telling her she should at least save the poor bastards dragged along into this. That this was what the true God-Emperor would've wanted, not the caricature the fake priests crowed about.
"See?" Ariel whispered from her position at the witch's side, "I wasn't joking when I said that gang was being really weird and killing itself for no reason!"
"I'm just having trouble understanding that there can be a gang more stupid than the goddamn Leeches." Galatea grumbled, watching another line of men and women tumble off into the darkness. She crushed that little shred of conscience under years of experience as a gang leader. You cared for your own and nobody else.
'Well,' M'll's voice echoed in her mind, '
You said that the Hook was fanatical in following hierarchy, no? It doesn't matter how smart an underling might be if their leader is a complete fool. I've seen, and lived it more than once… which of course does not include you summoner.'
"If I were, I'd be dead fifty times over. You don't survive as a minor gang down here by being an idiot." The witch grunted, watching impassively as more and more lives were pissed away for fuckall. Purple fingers twitched, wanting nothing more than to rip out that flaming turd's throat out so he would stop prattling. "I assume your old bosses got what was coming to them?"
'
...Yeeeeees…' The neverborn said evasively, as some nuns came from outside the shaft, giving aquila signs to those already here. The gesture had always looked kind of silly to Galatea, but she knew better to say it out loud, '
They sure did.'
"It be like that sometimes." The mutant chuckled, tongue vivid violet and inhumanly long as it licked her lips. She was still getting used to the, according to Ariel, gift from the overboss. How it fit comfortably in her mouth when it could hang past her chest, she had no idea. "I
do take criticism, I'd rather be told I'm fucking up than end up dead."
Whether due to a malcontent underling shanking her or her poor decisions leaving them facing down an Ambull or worse.
'
I'll keep it in mind, ma'am,' She told her, before adding, '
It looks like their patrols are gone. It might be the best time to strike.'
"Aye." The witch said as she limbered up, soulfire beating strong and steady under her skin. Now, time to do something that'd get the old lady twisting her ear off if she was still around. In any other circumstance, she may've hesitated, but watching the fake nuns burn alive the last few pipe rats handily took care of that, "Lamu, I want you to fireball the statue's face. Then stand on its melted front running your mouth and throwing around more fire while Jpai and Pat crawl up it, that'll get them all bunched up. I'll hit them with the overboss' special then we jump them right and proper."
Manifesting, the blushing Alluress nodded with a vacant smile. Just like that, any lingering worry about what Galatea was doing vanished, "Yush mish~, wutever yu want~." Opening her maw wide, she half-screamed, half-breathed her warpfire flames.
The pink streak flew through the air, unnatural accuracy directing it to strike its intended target, some of the priest's entourage looked skyward with cries of surprise and shock.
Which immediately turned to fiery hatred once the projectile splashed over the statue's face, "
WHO DARES!?" The priest roared in outrage as the slag-metal and shoddy rockrete amalgam was eaten away by the fire, "
SHOW YOURSELF HER–!"
His roar was cut short by Lamu, jumping out of her hiding spot. Her smile now that of a hungry and dangerous predator. She landed upon a pile of flagellated corpses, the squelching sound of the act filling the room as she rocketed forwards, "
SLAY HER!" In response, the priest pointed at her with his blade, its mechanical teeth
roaring with the same rancour as its wielder.
Many of the nuns attempted to do as ordered, however, none could touch the neverborn as she jumped, twirled and ran across their midst, blocking or dodging the blows meant for her with her blade and tail.
Until, with a final spin, she found herself at the statue's face, its once solemn visage now turned into a grotesque, weeping thing, "Well~? Here~. I~. Am~" The Alluress called out as she playfully, sensually scooped a tiny glob of superheated metal and wiped it sultrily against her tongue– a faint hissing sound accompanying her next words, "
What are you gonna do about it~, mmmh~?"
"
YOU DARE MOCK THE IMAGE OF HIM ON TERRA!?" Faced with the inability to hit Lamu with his blade, the priest resorted to shouting… and pulling out a gun that wouldn't have looked out of place in a better off Arbites' hands, "
VILE MUTANT! THIS DAY SHALL BE YOUR LAST! OPEN FIRE MY FAITHFUL! RID ME OF THIS ABOMINATION!"
Many of the nuns did as he had, pulling out autoguns of their own and began either to fire at Lamu or run towards a place where they could begin to do so.
"
Ack-!" Thankfully, they were rather lousy shots, and the statue's head was hollow, allowing the leader of Galatea's neverborne to slip into one of the eyesockets and take cover from the hail of bullets. The witch winced a bit, setting loose the most inhuman of her underlings. She hadn't been lucky enough to get all the nuns bunched up enough with just Lamu and if the dragon just stayed inside the statue they'd wise up eventually. So she had to keep them angry and distracted.
It wasn't like they could do anything with their fervour, only good people like the old lady and witches like her could
make this shithole care about their emotions.
"Ara~ ara~. Poor little Lamu got herself into trouble again," J'pai chuckled, slithering into the fray to try and corral the nuns into a single spot, "When will she learn not to show off like this~?"
"Who knows?" M'll sighed, following along, before darting to the opposite side in a pincer.
"
BUT OF COURSE!" That priest had to have some sort of fancy gizmo to be able to scream like this all the time, "
WHERE ONE HERETIC AND MUTANT LIES, THERE IS A NEST OF THE ABOMINATION TO UNCOVER! BEHOLD THEM, OH FAITHFUL! GAZE UPON THEIR REPUGNANT FORMS! DO YOU NOT FEEL RIGHTEOUS WROTH AS THEY DESPOIL YOUR SIGHT?!"
Credit where it was due though. His legs were as good as his lungs as he charged M'll, gun firing wildly and chainsword at the ready. The neverborn swore as one one the high calibre bullets hit her with a spray of ichor, bypassing whatever magic normally stopped the gangers' piddly firepower from touching them. Galatea supposed it was bound to happen, witchcraft had its limits and apparently the neverborn fare was no different.
"
WATCH HOW THE ABOMINATION BLEEDS NOT THE CRIMSON TEARS OF THE ANGEL! IT IS NO HUMAN, ITS FORM BETRAYS IT SO! IT CAN ONLY BE THE FOUL SPAWN OF A DEBAUCHED HERETIC, LAYING WITH THE VERMIN THAT INFEST THE LOWEST HIVE!"
"Hah!" While her minion fought for her life, Lamu, of course, guffawed, "He called your mother a worm fucker!"
"We– gh-!" M'll was forced to bite down on both her pain and likely a slew of swears as the priest charged her, forcing her into a duel, her claws clashing with the teeth of his sword. Still, she couldn't quite help herself, "Share a progenitor you limp-brained lizard!""
"I can't hear you over the sounds of your mom fucking a bu–" A bullet nearly hitting M'll cut her off, a gout of flames quickly enveloping the offending sister, "Oh shi–!" Which made the other nuns fire at her with renewed vigour, happily clumping together into a mob as they were wont to.
Galatea smiled wide, tongue shimmering fuschia as the tip split. A sharp snap through the air and it rang like a tuning fork, its note lingering at the edge of hearing, unobtrusive yet impossible to ignore. She could feel their hearts stuttering as the magic burrowed in, dredging out a new rhythm from within.
The girls needed no further signal for their charge.
It should have allowed Galatea's little band to exterminate the enemy band. To let them pick the so-called 'Holy Men' apart as the most perverse and debauched fantasies that the mind of their targets could muster mesmerised them into uselessness. It should have allowed M'll's pounce to tear through the 'priest'–
"LET FAITH BE MY SHIELD!" Only for a wave of light, the colour of rusted, bloody gold, to burst from his form and destroy the witch's spell hold on him. That was no miracle, Galatea knew in her bones, that was nothing but the patronage of a warp-boss. Artificial witchcraft. With a swipe of his blade, he parried the neverborn's attack.
"G-uh–!" Which had the unfortunate effect of shattering her guard, so unprepared for a riposte and committed to the blow as she had been. "AND LET BLESSED STEEL RID HIS WORLD OF YOU!"
Galatea could see it all happen in slow motion as he lifted his gun.
M'll's eyes widening in realisation as she stared down the barrel of the handcannon, the blood thirsty grin on the priest's face, her girl's body starting to twist out of the way, the finger slowly squeezing down on the trigger, the cylinder cycling a live bullet into the chamber, the purple-scaled missile rushing toward them, the gun moving back as the recoil took hold of it, the cloud of fire and smoke belching out of it as the bullet left the barrel–
The sound of something shattering filled the air in the shaft, followed by the priest's mad laughter as he stood over the bodies of two of Galatea's minions. A shellsocked M'll shaking J'pai's unresponsive form, a puddle of ichor pooling under her head, "BWAHAHAHAHAHA! BLESSED BE I!" Lifting his gun in the air, he fired it twice more, "THROW THESE VILE ILLUSIONS MY FAITHFUL! THEIR TREACHERY IS REVEALED! NO MERE MUTANTS! THEY ARE WITCHES!"
At this declaration, a few of the nuns glowed with the same sickly-gold light as the priest, ending the spell in the same way as he had, confirming Galatea's suspicions. Sorcery. "As for you," He spoke, his voice taking a low, dangerous note as he aimed his last bullet at the head of the centipede woman, "Let death redeem yo–"
"
RAGH!" In a flash of red, a mad, animalistic roar mixed with that of gut wrenching pain.
"MY HAND!" J'pa'idée, bruised, battered and half of her visor shattered, glared at the priest as his red vitae dripped from her hand. The preacher's own replaced by a gushing stump courtesy of the avian talons that'd replaced the snake woman's fingers.
"HOW DARE YOU HURT HER!?" The calm and flirty woman the witch had known for the past week was completely gone, replaced by a ball of seething rage that threw itself against the priest, "I'LL GUT YOU FOR THIS!"
The only reason Galatea wasn't right there with her was that she had only known these women for a scant week, which didn't at all stop a blackened arm from ripping a fake nun's head clean off. She could feel the lightning skittering under the skull, all it took was following her gut and the whispers to stoke it rather than let it dim.
Stoke that lightning until she had a crackling bomb to fling at the bastard that threatened to once again take everything from her. The witch's fingers twitched with the familiar stabs of fried nerves and burst veins, the entire arm feeling like charred wood from how much power she'd forced through it. She wouldn't be throwing any more Ambull Punches with that one for a good long while, but frankly? Galatea couldn't care less as she watched arcs of lightning lash out to any and all nuns in the grisly bomb's path. It didn't matter that it shocked some of them out of their trance, not when their nerves screamed and their muscles seized, throwing off their attacks and letting the neverborn slay six more.
The priest was far from spared as the head finished its tumble almost under his feet, the lion's share of the power imbued into it reserved for him. Streams of warp-lightning wracked his form without end– yet, instead of screaming as any sane person would, he simply bit his tongue until blood dribbled from his lips rather than allow any admittance of weakness through them. He let his chainsword be the one to roar litanies of hatred in lieu of his voice as he exchanged blows with the raging naga.
Claws met teeth, sword met talon, forming a song of violence upon whose notes the twins began to dance their deadly ballet. Distant spurts of blood and ichor, cries of pain and whoops of joy became half measures– the tempo that guided the duel.
One that, by all accounts, J'pai should lose. Bone and claws were substances that, no matter their origin, had no right to face the whirring adamantine teeth of a chainsword and survive. But the neverborn's talons laughed in the face of something as paltry as 'logic'. A thrumming veil of unreality covered them, flaring fuschia to Galatea's eyes with every clash that made up the notes of this song of war.
Slowly, the fight shifted. Even in the throes of their frenzy, the realisation that they could not overpower the other crept up on them. The duet's nature changed, wild strikes and wilder strength giving way to cunning and skill. It began with a twist of the priest's wrist, the sudden stop of his chainsword's roar all the surprise he needed to lunge and hook J'pai's claws on the motionless teeth. His inarticulate roar of triumph as he thumbed the ignition to wrench the offending arm away and completely shatter the snake woman's guard was however cut short as the neverborn turned the tables. Inhuman grace and strength allowed a twist of her fingers to foul the alignment of both blade and strike, leaving the preacher exposed to her other talon. Only a split second dodge left him with a deep gouge across his nose instead of a severed head.
Even as busy in the melee with the pretenders as she was, Galatea could tell without a shadow of a doubt that this was no longer a matter of flesh and blood, but of spirit. Rust red ground against vibrant fuschia, all wounds and sense ignored in favour of whose righteous rage would prove itself superior. Her own witchcraft, hateful lightning gnawing at his form, was powered through as easily as he did his missing hand and the fountain of blood gushing from the stump.
It seemed as though the stalemate would go on– only for song to echo from above.
With a voice like silk-wrapped steel, Lamu jumped from the Emperor's once pristine visage and fell upon the shoulders of one of the nuns. Wrapping her legs around her victim's head, she raised her voice, fuchsia witchcraft woven into every alien syllable. Her song empowered the neverborn and filled Galatea's lowest core with a bizarre heat. Yet, for the ordained thugs, it was another torture heaped upon them. Every syllable making their hearts stutter and the neverborn's witchcraft forcing them to feel the crushing grip of the dragon's thighs on their sister's head.
With lightning filling his nerves and the song filling his ears, the priest's skill began to slip, his anger to dim and his sorcery to waver. Ruining his tongue to deny an admittance of weakness ultimately proved a costly mistake. After all, with no voice he could no longer embolden himself, nor his congregation through his words. Yet he held on, his anger and stubborn refusal to yield to what he viewed as vermin sustaining him as wounds continued to pile on both sides of the duet.
Only, it was no longer a duet.
Louder, harder, had La'muorte'ndr sung and squeezed.
Louder and
harder, her voice filling the whole room, her sensual flesh tensing as muscles cut off the nun's air supply.
Louder and
harder, as if she was attempting to smother the sounds of battle with her voice. An impossible notion, as her voice was high and sharp as the blade she wielded. It cut perfectly through the gunfire, the clash of metal and shouts of pain. But it lacked the
weight required for silencing these sounds…
Or so it was, until her loyal steed joined the
song. Her voice was unlike anything Galatea had ever heard, a throaty
rumble that seemed to shake the entirety of space around her with a pressure that pushed down on all others. Demanding them to bow their heads in deference and admiration– not of it though.
With such a melody burying all other sound beneath the stage it set, it was no surprise that Lamu's own voice became the centre of the world. Taking what her often ignored and rarely thanked servants offered her and creating
true art. Nothing like what the Fingers ever achieved.
To the nuns it was a distraction, stopping them from shouting prayers of hatred at their foes. But to Galatea, now that she has spent some time with these women? It was so much more than that.
The Ouet twins' dance shifted, becoming more primal and violent without losing a single smidge of its beauty. J'pai's strikes became sharper and more focused, the singing sharpening her predatory instincts to a fine edge. M'll, who had lain half-stunned until now, skittered away to join the slaughter in the earnest.
Above all these though, Galatea could tell just how much both Lamu and Gand cared for each other. It would be easy for the diminutive neverborn to undercut her servant, to take all of the glory of the song to herself, to sing her song filled with vainglory and self-aggrandizing. But she didn't.
She was certainly dominating the song, but she still allowed the centaur's voice to take centre stage when required– or whenever she felt like it. It spoke to a connection deeper and more complex than what she'd allowed her summoner to see up to this point.
A test to see if Galatea would notice? A 'slip of the tongue' as it were? A show that the witch was their master, but no member of their band, her own actions ever so slightly 'off-key' from the song? Only Lamu knew– if she even consciously realised any such intent.
These questions were forced to be as an ecstatic cry broke her out of her musings. Lamu's kneeling victim, so very close to the source of it all and so utterly unable to resist it, became the song's climax. Both literally and metaphorically, her cries violently cut off with the sickening
crack of her head bursting to pieces under the dragon's thighs.
Like a rock thrown into a pond, her cries of orgasmic death formed a ripple that washed over the rest of the shaft. Where it brushed against the servants of Slaanesh, such excess empowered them, granting greater strength and skill. But for their foes? It flowed over the priest's shield. His so-called miracle– and, as his blade crossed with talons yet again,
shattered it and the tool that had sung its glories.
His 'faith's true form was exposed– that of self-serving, impious, egoistic self aggrandizing. He could not deny its nature any longer, nor embrace it, and so it was torn to shreds. Without the sorcery sustaining it, his weapon was nothing but mundane metal and his body was nothing but mere meat. Pitted against the raging fuschia of J'pai, there was only one possible result.
A shower of blood and a still-beating heart cradled in the snake woman's talons, punched clean through his back.
That was it. Without their leader's presence bolstering them with zeal and sorcery, there was little the nuns could do. All around them, they began to break, Galatea's gang making short work of shredding them to the last.
With a negligent push, J'pai separated from him. Stumbling backwards, he stared incomprehensibly at his own heart, which continued to beat to the mismatched tempo of his mouth opening and closing.
From behind her shattered visor, the naga fixed a single reptilian eye filled with every ounce of rancour that she could muster. Then, without a word, she crushed his heart and severed the last few sorcerous strings stubbornly binding soul to body.
With G'and and Lamu having stopped their song as soon as the priest had been pierced, complete silence now reigned in the shaft as the last echo of the preacher's collapse rang out. Everyone but Galatea's new gang were dead. Perhaps she should check up on J'pai, who was staring silently at the corpse she'd made, or on M'll, who was a fair bit blooded. But she'd rather gotten Lamu's point, intended or not.
Instead, she saw about finishing the last of her business down here. The old lady wouldn't have approved, but she wasn't the skittish child that saint had taken under her wing, the idiot girl who thought it was over. That she could go soft. She was a gang boss again, so it was time to say goodbye to her old boys and girls, right and proper.
"Claudius." The witch whispered her second in command's name as she stomped the lead nun's head to paste, grinding her grief into the floor until the mark of her foot and the blood would never go away.
"Immaculata." Her scout would bitch her out all the way from the Emperor's side if she could hear her now, Immy had always hated her full name. Stomp.
"Sparks." Her techie, always with a smile on his face. Stomp.
"Powder." Stomp. "Victor." Stomp. "Rags." Stomp.
More names. More marks. All she could do for them, now.
►SpeedOfShart (Sanic)
First
► Moldybones (Swamp Gooch)
Fungus.
►ModernPygmlaion (Galatea My Beloved)
Hey, sorry for the massive delay. Although I'd be surprised if anyone's even paying attention to this when
Nils just opened the goddamn floodgates a few weeks ago.
►KillerQueen (Plastic Cultist)
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