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The Inebriates. They are followers of the Demigod named Tenbhur. He is hulking faded flesh and muscle, strength given form, rigamarole condensed to bloat. The Khagan that sips constantly on gunk. The attraction to woozy drink, the succor of tasting it with flinching lips, withdrawing in surprise. But soon coming to be accustomed to the taste, to the fire. And all the while, the only thing that has to suffer, is one's mind. For what is a mind really? But the source of pain and woes, naught spoken from that which is drowned.
His fingers flex, holding tightly the bident bestowed as the symbol of his office. An impaling implement for which the enemies, the many, are meant to be mounted upon in full view of that Devil, with five fingers to bring down the unearthly strength given and the wickedness built within, a torrent of the apparitional.
Born the son of a drinker, Richard Ray Peat. He is this Monster. How ironic. The perfect twist fate lay out for the Devil's hand to clench. What luck. He is Monster. He is Man. He is.
"Chosen one!"
He stumbles in a jumpy fit, looking down the aisle to the voice that cried that, the smaller figure of the midget Death Cultist joined to the troop. As the aisle grinds to a halt, the subtle jumping softens. Light, through the windows.
"We're here!"
Guns loaded. The tracks hissed.
Several cabins of the metro they hijacked, full of red warriors, horned helmeted men. They turned to the doors. Outside stood many civilians. Rows of them. That's just how busy the average dust hole in the traps was. Humans had to shuffle out and in constantly, fighting in near violence just to find a place or seat on these locomotives. Never mind that the aisles within were chock full. That's just how disgusting they are. Packs roving, colliding. Well, they didn't know what was inside. They didn't know that 'they' were here.
Nobody was giving them that divine clarity. The automated voice came over and said, "You have arrived at your destination. Please exit and proceed in an orderly manner", just as the doors swung open.
Men. Women. Children. The occasional Chemical Immortal on watch. Their reactions aren't that quick. Rather, they stand and stare in confusion at the red bodies stepping out now.
Gunned down to the last.
"KILL THEM AAAALLLLL!"
Open fire, they sang! Boom! Boom! Pow! Was this the sound of slaughter filling the ears of the Chosen One? Richard thought, this was good. Today was going to be a special day. Today, the flowing river of the weak would be crashing into the filter. Only the strong were passing through. Only the strong were fit to march ahead.
"Out! Out! Out! Kill em' all! Kill em' all! Kill em' all!"
Sanguine warriors brushed past, making their way outside. The screams were almost enough to match the sound of gunfire, until they weren't. That midget in the capirot came over and grabbed his chosen by the pants.
"Oh wonderful! Wonderful! Chosen One! The time is now!" He screams; "We go to KILL! Come! Quick!"
