Host
They were all there.
Wormking towered over the rest of the Host. It’s thick, rubbery body was covered in mucus and its splintertooth mouth gasped for blood like a fish on a shore gasps for water. Its puckering mouth sphincter searched blindly for sustenance. It was a very intelligent beast but its all-consuming hunger caused it to be unreliable. Wormking was a great motivator when placed behind the host, though.
It brought up the rear.
Shattered Knight stood in front of them, jet-black skull frozen in mid-ignition, his burnt armour halted in shards around his body, and his hands clasped over the hilt of his sword. He was an archgod of shrapnel. Explosives were his children to command. He was a living snapshot of kaboom. His entire body was a burnt skeleton encased in a hanging array of pieces of blackened metal. He was permanently in the middle of blowing up. The dark hollows of his eyes glinted. A silver bullet in one eye socket and in the other a bullet of shined lead with a cross carved onto the nose. His looks killed every day.
He took point, leading. Right now he stood, surveying what was in front of the Host.
Rangding the Bellman stood off to The Shattered Knight’s left. His armour was made of resonant metals and thin glass. His red fez suited his giant ginger moustache and squinting red eyes. His head was the only remaining part of his that looked human. His armour was composed of firebells, dinnerbells, strips of church bells, jingle bells, alarm clock bells, wine glasses, and musical triangles. Down each arm were the metal tongues of xylophones. Wind chimes hung off of his ears. His armour was hollow. It rang when struck.
If called upon, he could direct the sounds, deafen enemies, falsify alarms, or shatter bone. Security alarms were his to command. Right now he stood, hammers cocked, looking at the sight in front of the Host.
He kept his bells silent.
The Host has seventy-six members. Illegitimate children of the four horsemen of the apocalypse gathered over the years. Half-gods like Hercules but ignored by myth. Bitter bastard offspring looking for answers.
They wanted to be involved in the coming apocalypse and wouldn’t take no for an answer. They’d traveled to Hell to get direction to their parents.
They got the same answer everyone else did:
Go to the end of the world.
They stood on the cusp of it now. They looked at the shimmering window in front of them. Their fathers were on the other side.
The Shattered Knight looked over at Rangding. Rangding nodded, setting of the high-pitched squeal that only Wormking could hear. It lumbered forth with a thundering grunt. The Host ran forward.
Rangding sounded the alarm.
All seventy-six of them charged through the window into their parent’s house.
tags
Wormking towered over the rest of the Host. It’s thick, rubbery body was covered in mucus and its splintertooth mouth gasped for blood like a fish on a shore gasps for water. Its puckering mouth sphincter searched blindly for sustenance. It was a very intelligent beast but its all-consuming hunger caused it to be unreliable. Wormking was a great motivator when placed behind the host, though.
It brought up the rear.
Shattered Knight stood in front of them, jet-black skull frozen in mid-ignition, his burnt armour halted in shards around his body, and his hands clasped over the hilt of his sword. He was an archgod of shrapnel. Explosives were his children to command. He was a living snapshot of kaboom. His entire body was a burnt skeleton encased in a hanging array of pieces of blackened metal. He was permanently in the middle of blowing up. The dark hollows of his eyes glinted. A silver bullet in one eye socket and in the other a bullet of shined lead with a cross carved onto the nose. His looks killed every day.
He took point, leading. Right now he stood, surveying what was in front of the Host.
Rangding the Bellman stood off to The Shattered Knight’s left. His armour was made of resonant metals and thin glass. His red fez suited his giant ginger moustache and squinting red eyes. His head was the only remaining part of his that looked human. His armour was composed of firebells, dinnerbells, strips of church bells, jingle bells, alarm clock bells, wine glasses, and musical triangles. Down each arm were the metal tongues of xylophones. Wind chimes hung off of his ears. His armour was hollow. It rang when struck.
If called upon, he could direct the sounds, deafen enemies, falsify alarms, or shatter bone. Security alarms were his to command. Right now he stood, hammers cocked, looking at the sight in front of the Host.
He kept his bells silent.
The Host has seventy-six members. Illegitimate children of the four horsemen of the apocalypse gathered over the years. Half-gods like Hercules but ignored by myth. Bitter bastard offspring looking for answers.
They wanted to be involved in the coming apocalypse and wouldn’t take no for an answer. They’d traveled to Hell to get direction to their parents.
They got the same answer everyone else did:
Go to the end of the world.
They stood on the cusp of it now. They looked at the shimmering window in front of them. Their fathers were on the other side.
The Shattered Knight looked over at Rangding. Rangding nodded, setting of the high-pitched squeal that only Wormking could hear. It lumbered forth with a thundering grunt. The Host ran forward.
Rangding sounded the alarm.
All seventy-six of them charged through the window into their parent’s house.
tags