>>5942686>>5942725(1/2)
Gropgeeek's teeth shred dire dick from dire chimp like dire paper mâché from a dire piñata. Before the servos can assist in ripping Nipgak's clan-mate's neck off at the spine, our glorious leader's penis has been forever severed from his body. Embarrassed and angered beyond physical pain, Nipgak paints the medical chamber a dark, gloomy crimson.
Only a mangled, unrecognizable stump remains of Gropgeeeek.
Only a mangled, unrecognizable stump remains of Nipgak's twig and berries.
The medical chamber hisses open, and Nipgak stumbles forth, his machinery and fur drenched sticky in dark red; his shaftless stump on display. The attending Skull Duggers say nothing. The mysterious voice quivers to speak, but is interrupted by Nipgak's grunting and panting. The medical staff shyly asks if he'd like his dingdong reattached. Nipgak throws the chewing-gum-looking pud on the floor and walks on, machinery loud in the no-longer sanitized hall.
Finally, everychimp behind his back, Nipgak speaks. "'Mon, boys. Back to Shamhock. Time fa moida." He crunches his knuckles loudly and revs a forearm chainsaw of his on accident.
~~~~~
The killing fields of the swamps are once again slick with greasy blood and Pox pus. If Nipgak was feared before, his new powered armor has exponentially elevated that feeling - in everychimp. His own chimps won't speak to him unless directly asked a question. They are shivering next to Nipgak, even on the battlefield. His level of carnage is uncanny, no longer chimplike. And he keeps yelling to some unseen entity. It's clear he's not talking to the Skull Duggers OR the Pox Gang, but there's no one else out here. The rest of the clan isn't privy to Nipgak's relationship with the voice at the moment. No one is. But they are privy to the screams of the Scraped Rib. Over and over, Nipgak shreds Poxed chimp in twain, while eeking and ooking at an unseen spirit.
Finally, the voice returns to Nipgak. It's distressed. "Why are you doing this, Nipgak? Why..."
In the midst of a repeated curb-stomp, Nipgak: "WHY. ARE. YOU. STILL. IN. MY. 'EAD!!!!!!!!!!!" *brainsquish*
The voice pleads, "we're here to help your horde, but please, you need to-"
"THEN GIMME BACK MY JIMMYYYYY!!!!!" Nipgak forcefully twirls in a circle, sawing pox-buboed faces off left and right, gang members slumping and splishing into moldy swamp water one after the other.
Now clearly angered, but still with an even, golden-toned voice: "Enough. Son of the Scraped Rib, I command you find peace!"
Nipgak's machinery stutters then stops, and his muscles are bound by unnatural force, he squirms against the hold, but finds no purchase. Pox Gang members advance on him, one leaping high in the sky, wishfully thinking of a killshot on our pint-sized, dickless, cybernetic warlord...
