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Spike

The Underworld - Becoming (Part I)

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This one's fairly long, as my writing goes. Stick with it, though, i'd like to hear your thoughts on it :)
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The seemingly infinite darkness of the cave began to ease after several minutes, and Hendry found himself sighing with relief as the cavern opened up enough for him to stand upright. His protesting muscles sent out their own thanks and their angry throbs eased.
"There's light up ahead", Kalliope called back from the front of the line. "Not much, but it's enough to see by."
"Not necessarily good news", McMillan commented from the rear. "If there's light, then something put it there."
"And all we've got is whatever's left in your rifle. What, ten cells?" Hendry interjected. "Harsh language isn't my weapon of choice."
"Stealth it is, then. As much good as it's gonna do us in close quarters. Kalliope, see anything?"
There was a moment of dread-filled silence before she replied.
"I'm afraid so."
"Bad guys?" Hendry asked.
"Worse". She shuddered involuntarily.
The tunnel opened up again into an low-ceilinged cave. As McMillan stepped to the front of the line, he half expected to find the usual combination of tribal torches and spilled blood. What he did indeed see bought a million memories that he'd preferred to remain as such flooding back to him.
"Jesus", Hendry blurted. "How many people do you think it took to build this place?"
"So many", Kalliope gasped. "Do you think they were killed before it happened?"
"No", McMillan sighed. "They were all alive."
The crimson rock came to an abrupt halt as it met support struts that reached from floor to ceiling. From there onwards, the walls seemed to glow; a sickly pink-red mass, horrifically familiar in its components. The first piece of bronzed skin stretched out for several feet before it seperated by means of a long rip; gory muscle and exposed bones protuded from there onwards, forged into a bizarre pattern by the strips of spinal column and shattered skulls. If the sight was sickening, then the sounds were intensely haunting. The whole cavern seemed to breathe, an almost tangible pulsing that left all three marines with the distinct impression of being inside an organ. Above and beneath them, a carpet of warm, ropey intestines spread out to meet them like a macabre welcome mat.
"This isn't right", Kalliope muttered.
"Deal with it", McMillan growled, gritting his own teeth as he took point and headed deeper. The Corporal and Private exchanged nervous glances before following their superior in.
The demonic artwork failed to ease with their passage; if anything, it became more twisted. The mere thought of the agony involved sent shivers down Hendry's spine, and he found himself flinching from time to time, half expecting a flayed, bony arm to reach out at him from the sea of torture. Becoming almost accustomed to the sights that surrounded him, he had to look twice when he recognised the shape of a pistol clip partially embedded in the contorted abdomen of an almost complete - if disfigured - human form. As he moved in for a closer look he began to make out other objects that were almost fused into the walls. Unopened cases of SPAS shells, energy cell packs, field medical kits, even a wide supply crate bearing the unmistakable logo of the United Aerospace Corporation lay before him. In an hour of need, the demons may have unwittingly provided them with the tools required.
"Colonel", he spoke up. "I think we're in business".
It took a few minutes to prize open the supply crate, but it was more than worth it. Within its polished metal confines lay a nutritionist's dream; vacuum-packed ration portions, fresh drinking water, synth-skin patches, hypo-needles brandishing a variety of meaningless chemical names. It had been nearly two days since the ordeal had begun, and only when food - however tasteless - was brandished did they realise how loudly their bodies were screaming for sustinence.
"What's the ammo count?" McMillan asked hendry as he took a mouthful of beef-flavoured soya mush.
"How can you eat in here?" Kalliope asked as she regarded the Giger-esque surroundings. She'd abandoned all hope of immediate nourishment after just a few bites.
"You get used to it", he muttered inbetween portions.
Hendry stepped back from the somewhat bloodstained selection that lay at his feet. "Before now i was worried about finding ammo. Now i'm wondering if we'll be able to carry it."
"Just tell me what you've got, Corporal."
"Ok. We now carry a glorious one-hundred fifty-four shells... about three hundred rounds of 9mm for the minigun. Managed to salvage a couple of energy packs as well, that's about a hundred charges each. Would have been a good few blasts of the BFG too."
Kalliope's thoughts instantly turned to the man carrying the phased plasma cannon. Not a single sign of Wilson so far, and with every minute they languished in these halls of the damned, he gained ground on them.
"But we all know where that is. Kinda. Anyway. We got a few new toys too. Nothing too state-of-the-art, just good ol' killing sticks." Reaching down, he produced a pair of Beretta 9mm. "They might be old, but i'll take help from anywhere right now." He tossed one each to McMillan and Kalliope. The Colonel studied it admirably, checking the clip and finding it full.
"Anything else?" Kalliope asked as she slipped the sidearm into her fatigue pocket.
"Oh yeah," he grinned as he turned and knelt back down. "It's a bit loud, but it could come in handy." Both Colonel and Private exchanged curious glances as Hendry made some bizarre gestures, each accompanied by a low, chugging growl. As the object within the Corporal's grasp sputtered to life, McMillan's face broke into an expansive grin.
"I haven't heard that sound in years", he laughed as Hendry turned to face them, brandishing the bulky, rusted but perfectly functional shape of a chainsaw.
"So", Hendry smiled. "We feeling better?"
Kalliope began to reload her combat shotgun, finding herself grinning along with her companions. "Let's go find us a teleporter", she giggled playfully as she snapped the weapon shut.
"I'll second that", Hendry beamed, shutting down the chainsaw and replacing it with a fully loaded plasma rifle.
"Marines," McMillan bellowed, causing the others to flinch. "Let's show these fuckers what real Hell feels like."
Armed to the teeth and feeling physically - and mentally - renewed, the trio marched deeper into the demonic bowels with murder in mind.

The climb hadn't been difficult. With no further attempts upon his life, Wilson had successfully crossed the bridge and clambered atop the pile of mishapen wood and rock that seemed to pass as a place of dwelling among the demonic ranks. What had shaken him was the gutteral cries of agony that seemed to emanate from within. His skin itched beneath his tattered fatigues, particularly so just beneath the bronzed skin of the rocket launcher he'd appropriated from the deceased Cyberdemon. Stepping silently across the roof of irregular green slabs, he made his way towards a skylight framed by a criss-cross of wooden beams. Taking a deep breath, he peered over the edge. What he saw almost sent him tumbling into the pit of horrors he was bearing witness to; the screams seemed louder than ever before, and now he saw why.
The floor of the tall wooden room lay some twenty feet below, framed here and there by gothic statuettes of gargoyles and misshapen skulls. Perhaps a dozen of those brown, spiney, red-eyed creatures scuttled back and forth between various doorways while shuffling, snorting human victims of posession carried iron platters filled with crude surgical implements - mostly knives.
That scream again. Looking a little to a left, he was able to identify the source. A human - at least, it vaguely resembled such - lay strapped to a long wooden table, its arms spread and chained to the wall. Little by little, the Imps were slicing layers of muscle from its body, the skin seemingly long-gone. The eyes, likewise, had been torn from their sockets, leaving a skull rather than a face. A living skeleton, the Private thought angrily. Another scream, this one from the other side of the room. A similar table, the opposite situation. Again he couldn't decide on the gender of the human victim; its skin, bloated almost to the point of bursting, took on a yellowish tint that Wilson prayed was a trick of the light. Its arms were severed at the elbow, and thick tubes had been jammed into the gory stumps, pumping a vitriolic-looking fluid into its body. Jowels heavy with flab wobbled as the thing - Wilson could no longer think of it as human - attempted another scream.
I know what i must do, Wilson thought. As much as this disgusts me, I must thank you, Lord. I can now end this madness. Bringing the rocket launcher to bear, he took aim at the centre of the room - and fired.
The explosion rocked the very foundations of the building, flinging scuttling demons and torn body parts left and right. Unable to keep his balance upon his vantage, Wilson toppled inwards, landing hard on his shoulder. As his vision cleared, he made out shapes moving towards him and leapt to his feet, swinging the rocket launcher into the grinning face of an imp and feeling satisfaction as its visage crumbled beneath his attack. Another noise, this one from behind, and he spun around to meet it.
He faltered.
The flayed body stood erect, bleached-white bones still glistening with gore. It opened its mouth to speak, but managed only a malevolent hiss as it pulled its fist back and delivered a hard-edged punch to Wilson's face. The Private went down hard on his back, cracking his head on a wooden beam that had fallen from the skylight. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he looked up at the towering skeleton that seemed to smile down upon him.
"You cannot kill me," Wilson muttered. "My God is with me. Where is yours?"
"Your God is dead", came a soft, mocking voice. Rolling painfully over onto his belly, Wilson looked up at the creature adressing him. Long, spindly legs supported the almost skeletal frame that padded silently to his side. Its slender arms, like the rest of its body, was tinted a sickly yellow, reminding him of the victims of alcohol poisoning. But its face... that face was evil. A bulbous, hairless head with pure white eyes, no mouth to be seen, yet even now it was speaking to him again.
"Yes. Your God is dead. But ours is quite real." The Private suddenly felt hands hauling him roughly from the rubble.
"Come. We will show you. Perhaps he shall become your God as well..."

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Haven't seen him on AIM.

...Becoming? Tell me that's not a Nine Inch Nails reference. :P
Dun dun dun dun, dun dun dun, dun dun dun dun...

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This might shock everyone but... IT'S NOT!!! :)

It's actually an indicator towards the coming events of the story. Something's about to get VERY nasty.

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Spike said:

Is it just me, or has DSM seemingly vanished?

BEHOLD! I have returned after my one-week slumber!
I'll read the stories tomorrow - I've gotta catch up with last week's threads first.

[edit]TALKING demons??? Or is it just hallucinations?

Talking demons aside, this is one badass story - the idea about supplies in the gory mess of flesh is great. I do wish that you would mark transitions between pov more clearly - all of a sudden I'm reading Wilson's side of the story without warning. I usually mark such transitions with a:

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[/edit]

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dsm said:

TALKING demons??? Or is it just hallucinations?

Talking demons aside, this is one badass story - the idea about supplies in the gory mess of flesh is great. I do wish that you would mark transitions between pov more clearly - all of a sudden I'm reading Wilson's side of the story without warning. I usually mark such transitions with a:

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Heh; The Arch Vile (i presumed that everyone picked up just what the creature was from its description) can speak into the minds of its victims - just as it did in Hendry's flashback in the first Chapter back at Athens Base. I intend for Baphomet to have a similar ability - only MUCH more powerful.

Also, i'll bear your suggestions in mind concerning the POV - sorry to confuse you :)

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dsm said:

BEHOLD! I have returned after my one-week slumber!


Oh My (insert whatever here) You're back, well about bloody time :) Glad you seem to be liking the story, Spike has come up with some bloody great ideas on where to take it, the downside is....I already know them, so when i re-read over them i kinda know where it is going...I agree with your comment about you suddenly end up reading another persons POV without even realising, maybe Spike could do the old comic solution to this problem ie. "some part of story" followed by else where or such a place and such a year something like that...i dunno

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