The Mudfoot's Tale
Author: thefirewarriors
Comments: 9 (Watch for comments!, Add to favorites)
Views: 263
Yay! My first fan fiction. Some errors in spelling or grammar here and there, but I'm very proud of this.
Ummm... for those not familiar... Mudfoot is slang for infantry, m'kay? Enjoy!
-----------------------------------***-----------------------------------------
THE MUDFOOT'S TALE
A STORY BY THEFIREWARRIORS
GIDEON IV, NORTHERN WASTES
BUNKER COMPLEX ECHO-SIX-SIX
0900
The Ghost stalked the wasteland of radioactive glass, once trenches where men lived, fought and died; seeing with his own eyes the price of their victory. Should there be enough cause to warrant this? He asked himself quietly. Shaking those thoughts away, he kept walking; rifle slung loose with his finger on the trigger. After all, the order had come down from up high.
He slid down into the trench itself, unafraid of the unnaturally high level of radiation. His environmental suit could soak it all up and all he’d get was a deep suntan. Not that you’d get anything else from this world, aside from a gruesome death. Crawling into the small command bunker, he was surprised that almost everything was untouched, except for a few broken knick-knacks lying around.
As this realization dawned on him, he cinched up his rifle; scanning immediately for targets. What if some were still alive? Terran? Zerg? A small sound grabbed his attention like a sledgehammer. Someone had coughed. He swept into the observation post and came face to face with a marine. Opaque visor obscuring his face, he was on the floor, leaning on the far wall; his armor torn and shot up in numerous places and his right arm missing at the elbow. But he was breathing.
The Ghost lowered his weapon and activated his voice-unit, “WHO ARE YOU?”
The marine didn’t reply.
Stepping closer, the Ghost spoke again, “WHO ELSE SURVIVED?”
No answer.
“ANSWER ME!”
Nothing. Even the rhythmic movement of his lungs and heart had ceased. So he was also dead; probably kicked the bucket just seconds ago. He mused. I wonder…
The Ghost crouched beside the fallen marine. He lifted the visor and saw the man’s unremarkable features; close-cropped brown hair, lantern jaw, and heavy brow. His eyes were a cold blue which looked colder still as they stared off into nothingness. His ruddy skin had already begun to pale. The Ghost removed his glove, the ambient radiation seemed low enough inside, and placed his hand spread-eagled on the marine’s forehead. It felt cold and clammy.
He closed his eyes. After a moment, he spoke, “SO, PRIVATE KIMBER, TELL ME YOUR STORY…”
…TELL ME HOW YOU DIED.”
***
The sun was shining brightly on the day I died. It blazed from the heavens. It sang from the skies. On a day the world seemed born again, the 22nd Company met its end. It took us along with it; me, the Old Man, the Doc, the Sergeant, Corporal Jacob, the kid from Faray, Privates Kelly, Geoff and Jervas, all the rest. Taken by the Swarm.
Here I go…
The klaxons wail incessantly and the purple sky darkens as dusk falls around us. Smog drifts through the trenches, the massive palisades and Neosteel barricades that are born from several decades of slaughter. On this planet of Gideon IV, a battle is being fought. Just a single battle in the wake of numerous others in a war larger than anyone has ever imagined. But it is rumored that any single battle will be enough to tip the scale of that whole war in our favor.
The Zerg had come to Gideon IV.
Inside the trenches; we, soldiers of the Terran Dominion, wait for the enemy. It is a long war, a dirty war; and many of us are losing hope of victory. Attrition takes its toll on my company and we are shockingly under strength. Ammunition is almost as low as morale. The weekly supply drops Command had promised are several seasons late. We are in no shape to fight!
But as this war drags on, every trooper must forget his circumstance. Gideon IV taxes the fighting forces of their resources. Our armies are spread thin. Desperation laces our every action and everything seems ready to fall.
But not the Swarm.
A cry is heard. I see a man, running. Running towards us.
“RUN!” he screams, “THEY’RE COMING! THOUSANDS OF THEM!”
I swallow hard and tear my gaze away from the maniac. It wouldn’t do to soil myself right now.
“RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIVES!”
His last cry echoes into nothingness, fading away into a scream of agony as a needle spine embeds itself between his eyes. The fog suddenly bursts open, revealing an obscene horde of monsters.
Abominations! Diseased copies of our soldiers charge into our ranks, screaming their vile oaths to the Swarm. We open fire, cutting them down like wheat at harvest. But more than enough get through. They leap into our midst, singing their hellish hymns in inhuman voices; exploding. Debris falls like rain from the sky. Rock. Mud. And body parts. The trenches offer no respite from the onslaught.
“Breach at Charlie Two-Four! I have multiple casualties!”
“This is Adolf Five-Three! Requesting emergency medevac!”
“Command! This is Dog Two-Zero! We’re being---“
The comm is flooded with the cries of the dying. I switch it off. My rifle is in my hands. It’s everything I need. Several Zerglings scuttle into our position, mandibles clicking and skull-like eye sockets blazing in the twilight. We dispatch the first one with a burst and follow through, tracing our fire across the mob of demons; watching in horrid fascination as they wither under the barrage. Behind me, Jervas cries in pain. I turn and see him lifted into the air, two crystalline blades protruding from his abdomen.
He is screaming, screaming so loud I can hear it without the comm-line open. The blades separate; cutting him into two neat halves. I cry out in rage. The Hydralisk rears up like some devil-snake and seems to take delight at my horror. I see its carapace peel back, revealing row upon row of dart-like spines. I’ve seen enough to know what will happen next.
I bring my left arm up in front of my visor just as it spasms, sending three of the spines into my forearm. I know they are poisoned. But better if it is your arm rather than your face. A split second later, it lunges; talons outstretched.. I will have no second chance. I raise my Gauss rifle one-handed and launch a rocket-grenade at the beast. It seems to put on a bewildered expression just before its whole upper torso is smeared across the firestep. The blast hurls me down. Spitting out mud, I hurriedly pull out the spines from my gauntlet; glad to see that it missed my arm by a hair. It didn’t even graze my skin.
My squad is dead.
I clamber up the firestep and run straight into a pack of Zerglings, their insect-like chattering reverberating through the insides of my helmet. Surprised, I am too slow and a claw is driven deep into my right shoulder and flank, throwing me into the mud. Pain, immense pain, flashes through my body. Adrenal stimulants flood my system, immediately nullifying it; lending new strength to my limbs. By pure reflex, I lash out with my left hand. No wind-up. Just one single blow. The Zergling’s head disappears in a puff of red mist and I scramble to rise as I see the rest of the horde bounding towards me. My right arm a mangled mess, I pick up my rifle in my left hand and fire it. No use!
Flames engulf the Zerglings before they reach me. I can see them flailing in the inferno, their flesh sloughing off and their carapace crumbling to ash. Corporal Jacob appears on the lip of the trench, dual wrist-mounted flamers spewing liquid fire like a dragon from legend. He raises his visor and looks at me; a white, toothy grin plastered on his dark, sooty face.
I wave to him. He nods back. He turns away and begins torching some other section of the trench. I struggle up the lip but pause in horror as several needle spines strike Jacob’s right flank. He does not falter. He turns calmly and flames burst forth, turning his assailants into ash and melted fat. He seems to be invincible in that dark night lit only by the fires he had set, like some obscure god of war.
But ultimately mortal. The ground before Jacob collapses and several Zerglings begin to emerge. He torches them. To his left and right, more attempt to climb to the surface. He denies them. I struggle to reach him, to save him before he is overrun. But the tides of the battle sweep me further away. I gaze on as the solid rock beneath him crumbles and he is dragged out of sight by chitinous claws. Seconds later, the cavity explodes; strewing the mud around it with pieces of Zerg and flaming debris.
NO!
I scream! I rage! I fight harder, on and on, for my fallen comrade!
My rifle is empty. I use it as a club, slamming its heavy stock into the foe until both are broken. My sidearm is out and firing, into Zerg heads or bodies. Now it is empty; I cannot reload. My right arm is gone, shorn from my elbow by a cruel talon. My stimulant reserves are nearly empty too. The battle rages like this for what seems like an eternity.
The Old Man dies; a spine impales him from below. The Sergeant; Mutalisks from above spit acrid death into his back. Kelly buys it along with the Sergeant. The Doc tries to save Geoff from a crimson tide of monsters; he fails.
The kid from Faray? I find his head on the ground, a few feet away from his body. I didn’t even know his first name.
Everyone else too. Nothing is left.
No.
Blood… That’s all that’s left. That’s all I see. Everything tumbles into a chaotic swirl; full of malice, of death… of blood. My armor is shattered, its shell torn asunder. Integrity alarms are wailing in my head, splitting my skull with their high-pitched shriek; as musical as the mythical Siren’s call that had once led doomed sailors to their graves.
Dawn comes but she brings no respite from the horrors of the night. My body is broken. I drag myself into the command bunker with my remaining arm, bleeding in several dozen places. The darkness beckons to me. I deny it. Outside, the battle’s fury has not diminished. Screams, explosions, gunfire, oaths, curses… I block it all out.
The observation post! I struggle towards it, every breath a knife in my side. I reach the vernier and peer in. I am not comforted. The endless tide; as if the brutality occurring last night had not dazed their forces in the least.
What is missing?
In the corner, the active sensor begins to squawk; and an emergency message is projected onto the screen,
[NUCLEAR LAUNCH DETECTED]
Of course!
My heart is pounding in my throat. It is so loud I can hear it. Then I laugh. It’s over. We’ve won. I seat myself more comfortably and watch in detached amusement as four nuclear warheads fall from the sky; like grim harbingers of doom and joyous messengers of the gods.
The Old Man, the Doc, Sergeant, Corporal Jacob, the kid from Faray, Privates Kelly, Geoff and Jervas, all the rest. It took them with it. All debts paid. For a moment, I thought that I alone would live, that I would survive to tell the tale. But as the fire of nuclear destruction swept over me; I knew it was not to be.
***
The Ghost stepped backward as he broke the psychic connection. He let his gaze drop in silent reflection. Everything he saw… in the span of a heartbeat. It had all been so vivid. The exhilaration, the fear, the terror. The pain. Everything.
At once, his temples began to pound, due to the incredible psychic strain. His vision fogged and his legs felt like lead. As he staggered out of the bunker, his knees buckled and the Ghost retched violently. It had taken most of his reserves to maintain the connection.
He had never attempted to dig that deep before.
He straightened unsteadily. Now he knew what happened. The Ghost would report everything he saw to his superiors. And he would allow himself to be subject to a mindwipe, forever erasing his memories of this encounter. He would never allow himself to think of this ever again. He would forget.
That’s what he would do.
***
Inside the bunker, Private Kimber remained where he was. His armor pitted and torn; dried blood and radioactive dust crusted everywhere. Internal injuries and blood loss had killed him where aliens and nukes did not, and the only traces of humanity left were his cold-blue eyes; staring, just staring straight into nothingness.
Accusing. Blaming. Pleading.
Remember us.
FIN
Ummm... for those not familiar... Mudfoot is slang for infantry, m'kay? Enjoy!
-----------------------------------***-----------------------------------------
THE MUDFOOT'S TALE
A STORY BY THEFIREWARRIORS
GIDEON IV, NORTHERN WASTES
BUNKER COMPLEX ECHO-SIX-SIX
0900
The Ghost stalked the wasteland of radioactive glass, once trenches where men lived, fought and died; seeing with his own eyes the price of their victory. Should there be enough cause to warrant this? He asked himself quietly. Shaking those thoughts away, he kept walking; rifle slung loose with his finger on the trigger. After all, the order had come down from up high.
He slid down into the trench itself, unafraid of the unnaturally high level of radiation. His environmental suit could soak it all up and all he’d get was a deep suntan. Not that you’d get anything else from this world, aside from a gruesome death. Crawling into the small command bunker, he was surprised that almost everything was untouched, except for a few broken knick-knacks lying around.
As this realization dawned on him, he cinched up his rifle; scanning immediately for targets. What if some were still alive? Terran? Zerg? A small sound grabbed his attention like a sledgehammer. Someone had coughed. He swept into the observation post and came face to face with a marine. Opaque visor obscuring his face, he was on the floor, leaning on the far wall; his armor torn and shot up in numerous places and his right arm missing at the elbow. But he was breathing.
The Ghost lowered his weapon and activated his voice-unit, “WHO ARE YOU?”
The marine didn’t reply.
Stepping closer, the Ghost spoke again, “WHO ELSE SURVIVED?”
No answer.
“ANSWER ME!”
Nothing. Even the rhythmic movement of his lungs and heart had ceased. So he was also dead; probably kicked the bucket just seconds ago. He mused. I wonder…
The Ghost crouched beside the fallen marine. He lifted the visor and saw the man’s unremarkable features; close-cropped brown hair, lantern jaw, and heavy brow. His eyes were a cold blue which looked colder still as they stared off into nothingness. His ruddy skin had already begun to pale. The Ghost removed his glove, the ambient radiation seemed low enough inside, and placed his hand spread-eagled on the marine’s forehead. It felt cold and clammy.
He closed his eyes. After a moment, he spoke, “SO, PRIVATE KIMBER, TELL ME YOUR STORY…”
…TELL ME HOW YOU DIED.”
***
The sun was shining brightly on the day I died. It blazed from the heavens. It sang from the skies. On a day the world seemed born again, the 22nd Company met its end. It took us along with it; me, the Old Man, the Doc, the Sergeant, Corporal Jacob, the kid from Faray, Privates Kelly, Geoff and Jervas, all the rest. Taken by the Swarm.
Here I go…
The klaxons wail incessantly and the purple sky darkens as dusk falls around us. Smog drifts through the trenches, the massive palisades and Neosteel barricades that are born from several decades of slaughter. On this planet of Gideon IV, a battle is being fought. Just a single battle in the wake of numerous others in a war larger than anyone has ever imagined. But it is rumored that any single battle will be enough to tip the scale of that whole war in our favor.
The Zerg had come to Gideon IV.
Inside the trenches; we, soldiers of the Terran Dominion, wait for the enemy. It is a long war, a dirty war; and many of us are losing hope of victory. Attrition takes its toll on my company and we are shockingly under strength. Ammunition is almost as low as morale. The weekly supply drops Command had promised are several seasons late. We are in no shape to fight!
But as this war drags on, every trooper must forget his circumstance. Gideon IV taxes the fighting forces of their resources. Our armies are spread thin. Desperation laces our every action and everything seems ready to fall.
But not the Swarm.
A cry is heard. I see a man, running. Running towards us.
“RUN!” he screams, “THEY’RE COMING! THOUSANDS OF THEM!”
I swallow hard and tear my gaze away from the maniac. It wouldn’t do to soil myself right now.
“RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIVES!”
His last cry echoes into nothingness, fading away into a scream of agony as a needle spine embeds itself between his eyes. The fog suddenly bursts open, revealing an obscene horde of monsters.
Abominations! Diseased copies of our soldiers charge into our ranks, screaming their vile oaths to the Swarm. We open fire, cutting them down like wheat at harvest. But more than enough get through. They leap into our midst, singing their hellish hymns in inhuman voices; exploding. Debris falls like rain from the sky. Rock. Mud. And body parts. The trenches offer no respite from the onslaught.
“Breach at Charlie Two-Four! I have multiple casualties!”
“This is Adolf Five-Three! Requesting emergency medevac!”
“Command! This is Dog Two-Zero! We’re being---“
The comm is flooded with the cries of the dying. I switch it off. My rifle is in my hands. It’s everything I need. Several Zerglings scuttle into our position, mandibles clicking and skull-like eye sockets blazing in the twilight. We dispatch the first one with a burst and follow through, tracing our fire across the mob of demons; watching in horrid fascination as they wither under the barrage. Behind me, Jervas cries in pain. I turn and see him lifted into the air, two crystalline blades protruding from his abdomen.
He is screaming, screaming so loud I can hear it without the comm-line open. The blades separate; cutting him into two neat halves. I cry out in rage. The Hydralisk rears up like some devil-snake and seems to take delight at my horror. I see its carapace peel back, revealing row upon row of dart-like spines. I’ve seen enough to know what will happen next.
I bring my left arm up in front of my visor just as it spasms, sending three of the spines into my forearm. I know they are poisoned. But better if it is your arm rather than your face. A split second later, it lunges; talons outstretched.. I will have no second chance. I raise my Gauss rifle one-handed and launch a rocket-grenade at the beast. It seems to put on a bewildered expression just before its whole upper torso is smeared across the firestep. The blast hurls me down. Spitting out mud, I hurriedly pull out the spines from my gauntlet; glad to see that it missed my arm by a hair. It didn’t even graze my skin.
My squad is dead.
I clamber up the firestep and run straight into a pack of Zerglings, their insect-like chattering reverberating through the insides of my helmet. Surprised, I am too slow and a claw is driven deep into my right shoulder and flank, throwing me into the mud. Pain, immense pain, flashes through my body. Adrenal stimulants flood my system, immediately nullifying it; lending new strength to my limbs. By pure reflex, I lash out with my left hand. No wind-up. Just one single blow. The Zergling’s head disappears in a puff of red mist and I scramble to rise as I see the rest of the horde bounding towards me. My right arm a mangled mess, I pick up my rifle in my left hand and fire it. No use!
Flames engulf the Zerglings before they reach me. I can see them flailing in the inferno, their flesh sloughing off and their carapace crumbling to ash. Corporal Jacob appears on the lip of the trench, dual wrist-mounted flamers spewing liquid fire like a dragon from legend. He raises his visor and looks at me; a white, toothy grin plastered on his dark, sooty face.
I wave to him. He nods back. He turns away and begins torching some other section of the trench. I struggle up the lip but pause in horror as several needle spines strike Jacob’s right flank. He does not falter. He turns calmly and flames burst forth, turning his assailants into ash and melted fat. He seems to be invincible in that dark night lit only by the fires he had set, like some obscure god of war.
But ultimately mortal. The ground before Jacob collapses and several Zerglings begin to emerge. He torches them. To his left and right, more attempt to climb to the surface. He denies them. I struggle to reach him, to save him before he is overrun. But the tides of the battle sweep me further away. I gaze on as the solid rock beneath him crumbles and he is dragged out of sight by chitinous claws. Seconds later, the cavity explodes; strewing the mud around it with pieces of Zerg and flaming debris.
NO!
I scream! I rage! I fight harder, on and on, for my fallen comrade!
My rifle is empty. I use it as a club, slamming its heavy stock into the foe until both are broken. My sidearm is out and firing, into Zerg heads or bodies. Now it is empty; I cannot reload. My right arm is gone, shorn from my elbow by a cruel talon. My stimulant reserves are nearly empty too. The battle rages like this for what seems like an eternity.
The Old Man dies; a spine impales him from below. The Sergeant; Mutalisks from above spit acrid death into his back. Kelly buys it along with the Sergeant. The Doc tries to save Geoff from a crimson tide of monsters; he fails.
The kid from Faray? I find his head on the ground, a few feet away from his body. I didn’t even know his first name.
Everyone else too. Nothing is left.
No.
Blood… That’s all that’s left. That’s all I see. Everything tumbles into a chaotic swirl; full of malice, of death… of blood. My armor is shattered, its shell torn asunder. Integrity alarms are wailing in my head, splitting my skull with their high-pitched shriek; as musical as the mythical Siren’s call that had once led doomed sailors to their graves.
Dawn comes but she brings no respite from the horrors of the night. My body is broken. I drag myself into the command bunker with my remaining arm, bleeding in several dozen places. The darkness beckons to me. I deny it. Outside, the battle’s fury has not diminished. Screams, explosions, gunfire, oaths, curses… I block it all out.
The observation post! I struggle towards it, every breath a knife in my side. I reach the vernier and peer in. I am not comforted. The endless tide; as if the brutality occurring last night had not dazed their forces in the least.
What is missing?
In the corner, the active sensor begins to squawk; and an emergency message is projected onto the screen,
[NUCLEAR LAUNCH DETECTED]
Of course!
My heart is pounding in my throat. It is so loud I can hear it. Then I laugh. It’s over. We’ve won. I seat myself more comfortably and watch in detached amusement as four nuclear warheads fall from the sky; like grim harbingers of doom and joyous messengers of the gods.
The Old Man, the Doc, Sergeant, Corporal Jacob, the kid from Faray, Privates Kelly, Geoff and Jervas, all the rest. It took them with it. All debts paid. For a moment, I thought that I alone would live, that I would survive to tell the tale. But as the fire of nuclear destruction swept over me; I knew it was not to be.
***
The Ghost stepped backward as he broke the psychic connection. He let his gaze drop in silent reflection. Everything he saw… in the span of a heartbeat. It had all been so vivid. The exhilaration, the fear, the terror. The pain. Everything.
At once, his temples began to pound, due to the incredible psychic strain. His vision fogged and his legs felt like lead. As he staggered out of the bunker, his knees buckled and the Ghost retched violently. It had taken most of his reserves to maintain the connection.
He had never attempted to dig that deep before.
He straightened unsteadily. Now he knew what happened. The Ghost would report everything he saw to his superiors. And he would allow himself to be subject to a mindwipe, forever erasing his memories of this encounter. He would never allow himself to think of this ever again. He would forget.
That’s what he would do.
***
Inside the bunker, Private Kimber remained where he was. His armor pitted and torn; dried blood and radioactive dust crusted everywhere. Internal injuries and blood loss had killed him where aliens and nukes did not, and the only traces of humanity left were his cold-blue eyes; staring, just staring straight into nothingness.
Accusing. Blaming. Pleading.
Remember us.
FIN
| 1, thefirewarriors | |||||||
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Please Delete This...  I am totally ashamed at myself. T_T |
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| 2, deadfast | |||||||
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Ashamed? Ashamded?! Good grief, man! What on earth would make you say that? Did you steal it or something? I've noticed that this is your first fiction piece on Starcraft.org, if I'm not mistaken, and let me start by saying that most writers here, myself included, would all but kill to have a first work turn out so well done; any exaggeration aside. The storyline has been done before in many similar works, but seldom few to the degree of quality that I have found here. The grammar is spot on; the vocabulary is vivid and never repetitive, the action flows like running water-what more can I say? You're a natural! Usually theres some form of constructive criticism I can leave; but to tell you how this may be improved is beyond my ability. My only regret is that more people havn't read this; and it's not you're fault: Starcraft.org's reader population is in the biggest lull I've seen in my five years as a writer here. I really hope, for your sake and for the people that are missing out, that someone else picks this up. And, lastly, it would be a crime against quality creativity for the staff to delete this. Anyway, the best stand-alone piece I've seen in ages; I'll have to keep an eye out for anything new you come up with (or you could PM me, I'll be happy to read your works). This is a textbook example of an excellent short story; Exceptional beyond any doubt. |
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| 3, thefirewarriors | |||||||
|
yeaaah... well having it sit here for like... 4 days... and still no comment or even a vote... that kinda saps you of confidence... ah well.... thanks for that deadfast! :D i'll try to make another one... | ||||||
| 4, Batchelor | |||||||
|
Don't worry about that. This section is in a serious coma. I remember when I first posted a story here (not that long ago) it got 1000+ views and 10+ comments, which is relatively impressive. Now a guy is lucky if he gets over a hundred views and one comment. As regards to the story, it's very good. The last thing you should do is be ashamed. |
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| 5, PT32 | |||||||
|
I hear ya guys. and what hurts even worse is when 82 of those 100 views are your impatient checkups... Wow. THis is good. I haven't even finished reading it, and I'm already voting exp. Definitely way better than mine. More people should see this. There is quite a lull in this site. Not just fiction, either; everything just vanishes into a dark closet [as A L L 4 of my last submissions of any kind have] and is never seen again. And then the ones who actually bother to look read, and don't even bother voting, much less commenting. Soo upsetting... After all the work we put into 'em, our bombshells go unnoticed. I wish that'd change. Does anyone even bother to write strategies, anymore? I dunno. I wish people would make an effort to see our labors instead of posting 2-3 comments and leaving. Snif sniff Well, I'm off to do my own bit of reading now. [) |T32 |
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| 6, thefirewarriors | |||||||
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I am inclined to agree with all of you! We must revive the FICTION movement! >:D Thanks for the feedback! |
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| 7, Batchelor | |||||||
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See, the problem with that, is todays average shmoe isn't much inclined to read anything, especially in our little corner of the net. Fan fiction sort of has a "nerdy" vibe to it that repels most people, even other starcraft fans. Fan fiction gets its bad rep because: 1.All of those sonic/mario/anime gay sex crossovers (among other insane concepts) that plague our existence. 2.Not creating your own universe make "legitimate" writers scoff at fan fic writers. 3. Unfortunately, the vast majority of fan fic is crap. Your story is an example of whats in the top 25% of fan fiction, the other 75% is slush. |
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| 8, thefirewarriors | |||||||
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Hrrr.... *Cocks imaginary Gauss rifle* Then We Will Make Them!!! *Sprays room of imaginary non-readers with imaginary depleted uranium bullets* whoops! I ran out of imaginary ammo! There's just too many of them!!! DX |
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| 9, deadfast | |||||||
|
*Suddenly, deadfast comes crashing in through one wall with scythes reared high, bringing them down on a whole mob of non-reader's that narrowly cornered thefirewarriors* Fear not, for you're not alone in your battle! Fan fiction shall never fall so long as the immortal deadfast is has a blade in the matter! |
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