Urban Factory Ch. 1

The Finisher crossed the through a charred forest of twisted trees beneath a dark red sky which was thickly layered with clouds that had taken on a nearly surreal tint of purple and black. The sun was setting in the east and all the remaining light of day gradually sank into the cold abyss of night time. The absence of the two moons caused more trouble for The Finisher for he was out of mana, therefore he could not produce a spark to light his own way through the labyrinth of tree trunks.

His path started tilting downwards and the darkness was to enveloping his vision. With frantic haste he sped through the woods, dodging bands of trees and swiping away branches which crumbled when hit instead of resisting. His heart beat was pumping. In a few minutes it would be dark and then the festers would be swarming the area with razor sharp teeth that extend out ahead of them like an open ended beaks that could rip through his silverback-skin armor and vest like sodden parchment.

The shrill grinding of the festers screams started to pierced the air, a sort of warning for passersby that their doom was close.

The Finisher ran faster.

The sun fell and the darkness devoured all. The deafening cries of the festers filled the forest like an enclosed torture chamber encumbered with grieving, raped, and mutilated men, women and children.

A small sliver of blue light revealed itself to The Finisher not to far up ahead. He was overwhelmed with a desire to get to the light. If, by chance, it was a mana fountain, he could save himself by recharging in the divine fluids of the gods and throw fire from his finger tips at the pestering festers by either driving them away or killing them. The woods were already burnt, so more fire would not harm them.

Although the creatures made a feeble attempt to tear The Finisher limb from limb and then devour his innards and bones, he was able to make it to the mana fountain.

His pores were flowing with bulbs of sweat and his breaths were heaving in and out rather harshly. He ripped a fester off his back and closed his fist around its dark green head. It crunched and exploded like a ripe grape, sending out a thin splash of black blood.

The Finisher triumphantly cupped his hands in the round pool of bubbling, blue liquid and drank a mouth-full of it with his head tilted back, adam's apple bobbing.

He placed his hands on the edge of the upraised pool to support his weight and a fester grappled onto his head, squirming about, trying to get its teeth close to his skull, but The Finisher smashed the festers skull just as he did the last, and dropped the bleeding carcass into the man pool in which it started to split apart over and over again until there was nothing left of it. All the blood beneath The Finisher's skin felt as if it were moving towards the center of his skull, making his head fill with some unbearable pressure that he thought he should have been adjusted to by now after experiencing the sensation so many times before.

The darkness around the illuminating pool of mana awoke and everything appeared as it had been before the Unrighteous Assault in this scenic realm of beauty and miracles. The charred trees were loaded with thick clouds of red leafs on top of their dark green trunks and the surface upon which they stood was filled with the natural plants of this realm. A serene gust of wind brushed his skin and filled him with this immoderate rush of power, he felt more alive than ever. The feeling of going from an empty tank of mana to a full one was so unfamiliar to him, he had not been in that situation in decades. The clouds above, against the bluish-yellow sky formed the shape of his beloved god's all mighty eye. He felt like falling to his knees and praying to his god, but he had nearly forgotten about the festers.

Black vines of darkness lashed down from the skies. The Finisher saw something which, before receiving the mana, would have sent omniscient shivers down his spine. Through slats of darkness, hundreds of red eyes were glaring at him gluttonously, a deep scratching noise echoing from their maws. As a young boy The Finisher's father brought him a dead and preserved fester and told him to dissect it. He had done this because The Finisher was curious as to how the festers made such an awful sound.

The Finisher dissected the creature and, to his horror, saw that within the creatures stomach, lining its walls were hundreds of black teeth. When the fester eats, its food it does not get broken down by stomach acid, instead it gets grounded into nothing by these razor sharp teeth and then the protein and all the nutrients within the animal, including its supply of mana the food was holding, sinks into the walls of the stomach in between the teeth, sending the beneficial stuff through the fester's system. If it detects anything within the food which will be bad for the fester it sends it back out the creatures rear with the unwanted remainders.

As the cacophony of grinding closed in around him the world fell back into complete darkness and the wonderful world and the eye of his god above, drifted away like a screaming man over the edge of a cliff.

A fester screeched and grappled onto his left knee, whiles another grappled onto his back. Suddenly swarms of them were upon him, starting a gradual process of digging their teeth through his armor. He called to his god through a channel and in response his flesh exploded with fire and his skin turned black. His armor burned away and the festers on him fell to the ground, mangled by the blades of flame, which were whipping around him in thin tendrils, slicing multitudes of festers into bleeding chunks of teeth and meat.

The flames were to bright for the festers and the pain of being hit was unbearable. They quickly started to retreat. The Finisher still took to killing as many as he could before they leave.

Soon they were all gone and The Finisher was alone, the only sound was the rush of the flames encircling his nude body and the calls of the festers in the distance.

The flames on his body calmed and then sunk back into his skin, leaving just hands alive with a low flame from the palms. The Finisher called his armor and supplies back to him and they immediately lifted from the ground and started reforming around his skin. He never bothered with gloves for protection because his hands were always the source of his power, and whenever time called to use that reserve of power his gloves would be torn to shreds or burned or frozen.

The Finisher unlatched a canteen from his belt and returned to the mana fountain. He filled it with the blue liquids and the took another mouthful to refill himself. The pressure in his head was nominal and hardly noticeable and world only flashed with brightness and glory for one second before falling back into morbid blackness.

He left the mana fountain and retreated into the woods, towards his home in Stranded Line, or at least what used to be his home. He hoped that through the evil someone their had survived. Hope is often far fetched in a realm of doom, but without hope the chances of conquering over evil is nil. So he walks towards his homeland, alone, and his only friend is his god and hope.

(Hope you liked it. )