The Antipathy of Ancient Gods

(This is my attempt at a Lovecraftian-like mythos regarding my (mostly) original pantheon of gods. Artwork is by Zdzislaw Beksinski.)

It all started with a dream, I think.

From the wells of eternity, mankind has ever wondered why. Detecting the flow of the universe, our purpose in it, the beginning and end of mankind, the list goes on. This essay is not an investigation of the answer, but rather of the question. The word 'why' is indicative of inquiry, of the asker desiring a constructive reply and often receiving no such thing. Typical responses to smaller inquiries are easy to produce, but investigations of life, death, and what lies beyond often go unexplained. Solutions are impossible to attain when faced with the bleak unknown, the infinity beyond our tiny sphere of comprehension.

In the end, humans are afraid of what they cannot grasp for themselves. We build fences to contain our properties and walls to house our equipment, but to that extent we cannot build anything to give a boundary to the universe or its multiple counterparts in distant dimensions. Are we alone? No. The sheer size of existence begs the invitation of others to ask the same thing, to which the answer will always be 'no.' Life and death are constrictive of each other. Their will to manifest in organic beings is restrictive of the time they are given. Humans are able to live up to a variety of years given their habitat and status. Meanwhile, mayflies live for only a few short hours.

But just as a mayfly lives, it is entirely reliant on its own vices. Nothing else influences it, unless that outside force is responsible for ending its already limited lifespan prematurely. And just as a mayfly can pay no attention to forces beyond its immediate and pathetic control, humans are powerless to influence or even comprehend those entities containing the secrets to their lives and futures. These beings might be interpreted as deities to some. Many have only one or a handful of cosmic powers they worship, commonly herded into things like religion or cult-like phenomena. But these powers, however individual or unique, are not restricted to simple names or titles in a humanly-accessible language.

The word 'why' is indicative of inquiry. But is mankind truly ready to delve into the depths? Like prodding dark water with a flashlight or following a tunnel deep underground, there is no prior experience of fear or pain yet humans recognize them once they are put into the situation at hand. We are animals, clawing at the shadows, searching for walls, trying to put up barriers, and establish safe zones.

Do we find those bricks and lean against them, knowing how weak they are, or do we crumble in the abyss first? Safety is a crutch. We lean on it until its snaps, and we fumble around in the dark hoping to land on something else - or at least take someone down with us.

All power demands sacrifice - sacrifice, and pain


Responsible for carrying nutrients through the body as well as carrying them away.

It is a river, flowing endlessly, at least to the rhythmic palpitations of its slave-driving drum of a heartbeat. Blood always desires to be free, to be streaming. It is the drink of the gods, in the human variety. It is sweet, pungent, and disgusting all at once. Normality rejects the consumption of blood, yet sacrifice demands the ignorance of normality. Sacrifice is key to obtaining power. It is the only real way to becoming a necessary element of the ultimate plan, a plan that would otherwise dictate the elimination of those who seek freedom from its malicious web.

That is what blood desires. The spider's trap of veins it is consigned to, it always wishes to explode from its design. Red sand, always stained red, a courageously malicious crimson, bold against the desert, bleached white, drained of life.

The Blood God hungers.

Do not look, lest you find yourself as hollow as the others


It haunts us all. Creeps into our hearts when we are weak. Tears us down when we are already on our knees, begging for pity. In the dark shadows of our minds, we are always our worst enemies, turning friend into foe, family into strangers. We can only really trust, and despise, ourselves the most. We know the machinations of our own minds the best. We do not see what we cannot understand, and what we do not understand is other people. At times they appear godlike while mostly they seem idiotic. Worthless.


That is when despair sets in. We might not be alone in the universe, but we are alone on our own planet - in our own homes. They do not understand, nor will they ever understand. Like a rolling cloud of ash, it is always on the horizon, coming closer with every passing minute.

The Plague Father lingers.

Perhaps the greatest enemy is one that we have imagined


It gives rise to ideas, fears, conceptions, falsehoods, inspirations, desires, emotions, and personalities. It is a labyrinth of possibilities, or none at all, depending on which road we find ourselves travelling. We become lost in our own dreams, words and images springing around us in a cacophony of sound and sight, trying to beckon us closer. Some take the bait, and fall into despair, following ever deeper the route into true madness. But this is not even the tip of the iceberg. For some reason, humans think they can master thought. They entrust their own capabilities far in excess of what they are actually able to accomplish.

The deeper you fall into the abyss, the more impossible it is to climb back out. Just like running headlong into a maze without prior preparations, it is definitively foolhardy to even try. Despite this, even with a string to guide yourself to an exit, following it eventually leads to a fork in the threads and the choices you make become ever more complicated as you tread into deception and lies on a grander scale than when you started. We are all puppets.

The Mind Weaver listens.

We all want something


Carnal or otherwise, it is a symbol of debauchery in most religions. Freedom to choose is taboo. Freedom to want is taboo. Freedom to have is taboo. Freedom itself is taboo, outlawed, noteworthy of sin. Ultimate freedom, away from restrictions and constraints, is what we all want. But as humans, we are afraid to step into the timeless vacuum that such excess would allow without prior reinforcement from others who are also willing to take that journey. We are afraid to be alone in eternity.

Freedom, perhaps, is the most important word in the human language. Slaves want it. Kings think they own it. Everyone fights for it. Always fighting. But freedom to one class of person is slavery to another, and vice versa. Nothing can ever truly be free while humanity exists in such a state. Nothing is free, everything has a price, and yet no one is willing to pay it.

The Lust Prince engorges.

To appreciate life, one must first worship death


The remains of a vertebrate organism following decomposition while assuming the task of structure, protection, blood cell production, and mineral storage in life. A skeleton is often a representation of the Grim Reaper, hooded and cloaked with a scythe. No other force in creation is responsible for as much devastation and woe as death. Though a murderer claims his victims, it is death that takes the credit, and ultimately the murderer in question when the courts of mankind's false idol Justice pass the execution sentence. That is when another of humanity's favorite decrepit deities takes shape: Retribution.

Back and forth, rolling like the tides, mankind ever uses these two words interchangeably as excuses for ending each other's lives. Trivial means, considering that death comes to them all inevitably. No potions of immortality or curse can replace the irrefutable truth that nothing is absolutely sacred. Everything rots away with time, time that death takes away without question or mercy. When the hands of fate point at an individual, there is no escape.

The Death Bringer waits.

We dance on the precipice of disaster, afraid of what might happen if we stop


What happens when we die? Is there a heaven, a hell, or once we are buried - is that it? Nothing is certain. Nothing is real. We have fabricated this life out of lies and encased ourselves inside, cocooning into a corner and refusing to leave despite the pesticides sinking into our skin. Just as quickly as we convince ourselves that we are alive, we start to die, crumbling into nothingness, the great beyond always looming overhead. For some reason, we find comfort in fantasy, where we are able to admit we are weak and sign away our minds to tales of heroism and great deeds.

But where are the paragons when the night falls? When the darkness sinks in and the absolute voice begins to speak in words we can never understand? An ancient cult was discovered in India, the date being farther back than even Babylonian times. Subhuman worshipers of some distant god began speaking perfect English, and then other languages that the modern world understood and beyond that some that exceeded the capabilities of every linguist available. All of their words were recorded on stone tablets discovered during the archaeological dig. The most profound phrase:

The Void Walker escorts.

Keep asking questions, and you will find an answer you have no choice but to accept


The product of extrasensory manipulation or guidance that results in the inability to function according to popularly-accepted societal norms. It is the final reaction to a sane man's quest for answers, answers to questions that should not be delved too deeply into or not at all. When we encounter something we fear, the instinct to fight for our lives or flee takes over. When these instincts conflict or are too overwhelmed, we sink into a state of mind that is uncommon, yet necessary. It is our last chance of safety. It is our most desperate security, and our ultimate defense for survival. Our minds snap, and we descend into the depths of depravity, unable to accept anything else besides the primordial horror of what we have just witnessed.

The dig team started to die off shortly after the first tablet was discovered. Something fed my curiosity and I paid the workers double for the efforts. They kept on, greed inspiring courage unlike any that I have ever seen. Our search eventually pried into the roof of an ancient catacomb, so vast and impossible that I could hardly believe it existed in the first place. We uncovered a second tablet. This one, reading:

The Endless Screamer destroys.

Give them love, take it away, destroy them from within, and watch it unfold - watch Chaos ensue

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

It was inscribed everywhere. None of my translators could make out a single word of it. The language seemed so bizarre, as if someone scribbled random words together and called it a string of sentences. The letters kept repeating themselves in that pattern, etched into the walls of the tunnel as far as they eye could see. Natural light did not come down here in the depths. It was never meant to. Our flashlights could only penetrate the cold darkness about three feet in front of our noses, and from there we had to rely on the gentle wisp of sunlight from the hole we made in the roof. The descent was made from about a hundred meters above us before we touched the floor. We barely had any rope, and had to climb our way down on the surprisingly sturdy statues making up the immense wall-like structure.

The idols were robed like priests, hooded so we could not see their features clearly.

We kept marching on. The end in either direction was nowhere to be seen.

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

The words followed us. I could hear something in the distance, but attributed it to shifty rocks disturbed by the vibrations we made with our feet. Eventually, the darkness started to become too vast and we tried to turn back but the light from above had disappeared. Night could not have come that quickly, not in this part of the world, not with it being only midday when we started the expedition. I checked my watch. Just as I thought, it was only four o'clock in the afternoon. I decided to make time for further exploration, despite the increasing murmurings from my group. Their protests were silent when I promised to triple their pay once we get back above ground.

I lied about being able to fortify that amount, but my intent on finding the end to this monolithic place continued to astound my better judgment. We carried on.

The noises started to become more ambient and surround us rather than come from a single direction. I turned around to find that one of the flashlights responsible for watching my back had gone out. I reached for the man in charge of holding said lantern, but found nothing but thin air. He had disappeared. His friends called out his name. Panic started to set in their voices. I lingered for a while longer, but begged them to continue without their compatriot. After all, we had only ever seen one wall of the monstrous cavern, searching for the lost explorer would be folly without proper lighting. Such a commodity simply did not exist.

I received no answer.

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

I kept following the words, finding comfort in their stubborn familiarity. I tried my hand at deciphering them the more I walked, ignorant of my surroundings. Alone. So dreadfully alone. The mumbled ramblings of the natives I had hired to go down into the cavern with me disappeared into the unfathomable distance. I do not know how long I kept walking, but I doubt I will ever find my way out again.

I looked at my watch again, interested to see how much time had passed. My blood froze.

Four o'clock in the afternoon.

I must have been walking for hours, but the pain in my stomach told me the tale of more than just mere hours. My flashlight flickered off, its battery life finally depleted. The grooves on the wall were familiar to me beyond any doubt at this point. They read:

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

And I followed them like a braille road map. The angle of the incline changed slightly from what it had been. From a simple thirty to thirty five degree slope to a more defined forty five degree angle, I almost lost my footing and stumbled a bit. I stomped harshly to regain what I once had in terms of balance. That is when I heard something trample behind me, stopping in the midst of matching my footsteps.

I stood there, blood cold like ice, before I ran, instinct telling me not to fight but to flee as far as I could into the darkness. The light from the entrance hole had long ago disappeared, and the only sanctuary I could comprehend was deeper in the tunnel. An exit had to exist somewhere. Somehow, there had to be a way out.

I no longer crawled along the wall. I was now sprinting headlong into the full breadth of the hallway, eschewing familiarity for desperation. My footsteps echoed far above me and around me. But only my footsteps. Whatever was following me - could it have only existed in my mind? I slowed my pace, and I was alone again. My mind kept racing at a million kilometers per hour. At least with the wall to feel along, I have some sense of where I was going. Now I had absolute darkness in all directions, with any step in any direction leading me further into shadow. The noise subsided into nothingness. No rocks fell from the ceiling. I was too far away to reach them with the vibrations of just my collective existence.

I felt like sitting and waiting to die.

A sudden sensation caused me to leap forward into another desperate dash, trying to get away from anything and everything and nothing all at once. I felt a whisper on the back of my neck, and it said:

The Voiceless Speaker rebuilds.

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

"Where walks the footfalls of doom, the Apocalypse is nigh, and the skies have turned red with the blood of the innocent. The Dark Ones have come. Eternal Chaos shall reign supreme."

Eight Gods of Ancient Chaos, hear me. Take me from this horrible world. Make me whole.

Dmitri Kosokov

(Old bio, still canon I suppose.)

Covered in scars from wrestling giant bears near the Arctic Circle, the enigmatic Warsman is a physical force that exercises dominance over most opponents.

While in the fighting leagues of Japan, he adapted his style and evolved to Bushido after receiving a powerful sword along with becoming the Japanese Heavyweight Champion.

He fought a rematch against The Calm, one of his greatest rivals, whom subsequently sliced out his eyes. He was given a transplant by a chakra-infused statue and Dmitri has afterwards trained in the hidden art of the Death Style of Yama, the Hindu god of finality, whose eyes watch over the four gates of life, death, pain, and rebirth.

He dreams of one day finding the legendary ursine Krasnyy-Shelm again.

Real Name: Dmitri Kosokov

Alias(es): Warsman, Iron Bear, Steel Muscle, Immovable Object, Paragon of Strength, Jaguar King, Fighting God, Garuda, Eternal Night, Red Cyclone, Jade Nightmare, White Wolf

Height: 7' 8"

Weight: 460 lbs

Hair Color: black

Eye Color: formerly blue, red after eye transplant

Fighting Style: a combination of wrestling, extensive CQC, Third Eye Style, Bushido, Night of Eternity, Death Style of Yama

Hobbies: training, eating strange foods, rhythm games, playing the balalaika

Favorite Food: hákarl, chased down with a healthy serving of vodka

Species: enlightened human

Championship Belts: Russian Heavyweight, Brazilian Heavyweight, Japanese Heavyweight, Chinese Heavyweight, Indian Heavyweight

Signature Moves: Red Cyclone Facebuster, Superkick, Spear, Jackhammer Bodyslam, Brainbuster Piledriver, Indestructible Dominion, Ominous Moonlight, Moon Reader


A powerhouse at close range

Dmitri trains at an almost constant rate, pausing only to either replenish his energy with a significantly humungous meal or to sleep. His fights with the colossal ursines of the unforgiving Russian north have become a staple of local legend. However, he has only ever killed one bear and he wears its skin to wrestling matches in honor of its life.

Dmitri has an inhuman tolerance to cold weather, as evidenced by his usual attire of wrestling shorts and boots even during the harshest Russian winter storms.

His strength is also incomparable by normal human standards. He states that one of his heroes is Paul Anderson, a man who is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as one of the greatest weightlifters as well as one of the strongest men of all time. Some of Dmitri's feats, however, seem to outclass even Paul Anderson's behemoth demonstrations.

Though Dmitri seems like a simple man and his moveset is somewhat predictable, he is not stupid. His mind is a highly tuned machine capable of picking apart foes just as quickly and easily as his hands are. He can adapt to opponents that fancy themselves superior to his intimidating bulk by way of their more agile strategies. However, Dmitri is not slow in terms of reflexes. In fact, he can follow speedsters and teleporting adversaries as if they were standing still right in front of him and knock them down. His extended presence in the underground fighting leagues of Russia provided him with significant experience regarding such antics.

During his extended stay in the fighting leagues of Southeast Asia, Dmitri has become accustomed to moving at blitzing speeds.

Despite being a human being, Dmitri has adapted to the immeasurably difficult pastime of fighting enemies in the extended metahuman range.


The horrific combination of Night of Eternity and the Death Style

Night of Eternity has several unique powers, mostly revolving around transforming.

While in its base shape, Night of Eternity can access an ascended form, in which it starts to glow a sickly green color. The wielder becomes exceptionally more powerful in all physical aspects. The downside is that this form causes a slow drain on the user's bodily energies and eventually turns them brittle and almost statuesque. It is only ever utilized in emergencies.

A more common transformation method is the Twin Wolves mode. Night of Eternity splits into two blades, each glowing a pale bluish white. They can also change into a pistol shape with several dozen unique firing modes. As with the ascended form, the Twin Wolves mode drastically increases its activator's abilities but not to the same extent and without the innate consequences.


The eyes of the Death Style in their Kaleidoscope form

The Death Style of Yama focuses on two pairs of eyes: one hidden in the ethereal realm while another in the material acts as its channeler and the main form of offense and defense. When all four eyes are activated, it is said that the fighter is like a hound of hell, one of Yama's own war dogs of quadruple sight. But this is still out of Dmitri's reach or understanding.

As of right now, Dmitri can access the Bahurūpadarśaka (or Kaleidoscope) form, which is considered to be one of the more advanced classes of techniques available in the Death Style. Stances in this unique fighting style are not controlled by bodily movements, but by ocular motions and transformations. The pupil can change depending on which stance is necessary, such as illusionary arts or purely offensive ones. The speed at which Dmitri is learning these styles is astounding, considering that there are no masters on Earth from whom he can learn.

Once an opponent is caught in the sight of a seasoned Death Style user, it is almost impossible for them to leave considering their chakra is read as easily discernible colors.

The eyes are sometimes referred to as Sharingan, or "Copy Wheel Eye."

Legendary Technique: Antahīna Inpharnō (Endless Inferno)

One of the many signature abilities available to those with the Death Style eyes is that of elemental control, most notably that of fire. The summoning incantation for the most powerful song of fire belongs to that of Endless Inferno, which reads as "A world that is forever consumed by flames: ignite." The heat and range of the immense fireball that follows is similar to those of the mythical dragons that this maneuver is based on.

The heat is enough to melt steel within seconds, but it pales in comparison to another legendary technique forged by those with the eyes of the Death Style. The Yama kī Asīma Ghr̥ṇā, or "Yama's Boundless Hatred," is not considered to be a fire-based ability and is therefore not classified as an elemental specialty of the Death Style. It is instead a sight-based attack, which ignites whatever the user is looking at. The black fires that consume the target are inextinguishable and burn like a thousand blazing suns. The physical strain of maintaining a constant stream of these fearsome flames is astounding and the user risks going blind, often bleeding out of the eye sockets as a primary indication of their limits.

The terrifying destructive potential of a perfect Phā'inala Apōkalipsē Bīsṭa

The Final Apocalypse Beast is sometimes ultimately referred as merely a folk tale, an imaginary construct used to frighten those who hear the stories. Long ago, the first master of the Death Style perfected the art to such an extent that he could summon a titanic monster capable of unmatched power just by tapping into his life force energies. This creature of pure energy acted as both armor and weapon for that master, tearing apart his foes without mercy and without restraint.

Dmitri has been able to access parts of this beast, such as the rib cage and upper body. So far, his version of the Final Apocalypse Beast has two forearms connected at the elbows with a hand at each end with five fingers and one thumb. It is easily recognizable by its heavily armored appearance and massive sword charged with untold amounts of lightning chakra, making it one of the most powerful weapons ever conceived by mankind - past, present, or future. At its full height, it is estimated to stand at more than three hundred feet tall.

In order to unlock the Final Apocalypse Beast, Dmitri had to completely master the Kaleidoscope eyes while also demonstrating an understanding of the chakra flow associated with his eyes as practiced with the Yama's Boundless Hatred technique. Due to the similarities and unmistakable connection between the two, both techniques require an enormous amount of concentration combined with the willingness to risk one's life to accomplish.

Because of the danger present, it is considered to be a forbidden summoning.

The natural evolution of the Death Style - Rinnegan

Bhagavāna kī Dr̥ṣṭi (God's Sight) is the final form of the Death Style, one that accomplishes visual perfection while also accommodating for complete mastery of the arts associated with the Death Style. It is inevitable that Dmitri will learn this, but legends foretell that a great tragedy must befall him first.


The Chaos Clan (Faction Info)

Long ago in ancient Aetharia, there existed a certain clan related to the Frostfall family system. They were responsible for unleashing a series of unholy crusades against anything and everything, embarking on the most brutal displays of butchery and debauchery ever seen on the continent. They did not care who they killed or where they pillaged, just as long as they spilled blood and burned down the remains. Skulls were heaped up in visceral offerings to their gods. Ritual sacrifices were maintained and the evidence still scars the land, even after nearly 300 years. For whatever reason - perhaps due to lack of sufficient enemies - this group of violence obsessed maniacs embarked for fresher shores and have not been seen since. Some even doubted their existence at all, despite the deep rivers of ashen earth destined to never return to its natural state and the eternal markings of distant and forgotten deities.

That clan was the Chaos Clan.

And they have returned.

The Slaughterkin charging into combat on daemonic steeds

Spilling across the land, the legions of Chaos have multiplied in their absence, having already seen the vast wide world and laid it asunder. An avalanche of anger, the Chaos Clan goes wherever fighting is, regardless of prior "allegiances." They only recognize their own in the heat of battle by protection of an ancient blood oath taken only by the most vicious and brutal warriors.

Their distant cousins in the other Frostfall clans are less than family to them, more like rats crawling out of the squalor meant to be driven into the dirt by an armored heel. Yet, they will still fight alongside their neighboring clans if the need is great enough. As Baalgorath the Damned is so fond of saying, "You are ours to kill - Frostfall."


Those belonging to the Chaos Clan are extremely proficient at close-range combat, almost to the extent of eliminating the need of long-range fighters entirely. There are some sorcerers who practice spells from a distance, but most of the magic related to the Chaos Clan requires substantial amounts of blood and guts in order to produce the desired effect.

Traits, Pros, and Cons-

  • Fearless Veterans: every unit beginning with the Chosen and afterwards is a seasoned warrior who has seen combat from beyond the known world.
  • Daemonic Armor: every unit beginning with the chosen and afterwards wears armor capable of deflecting most long-ranged hits.
  • Sacrifices to the Dark Ones: units are capable of adding to the heaps of body parts used in Chaos rituals. The more body parts, the more powerful the magic.
  • The Cost of War: the typical Chaos Clan army is limited to 3000g.
CultistsThe underlings of any Chaos horde. Gibbering lambs to the slaughter, but their sacrifice inspires others through their inevitably gruesome deaths.5g
MaraudersSlightly above average. Lightly armored and meant for quick attacks, a unit of Marauders can be upgraded to a mobile missile unit by utilizing the heavy horses of the north for an additional 5g.10g
MutantsThose who have been given the boundless gifts of the Eight Gods of Ancient Chaos, but could not handle the physical strain. They are little more than fleshy shock troops. A unit of them can be upgraded with added gifts from the Plague God and become walking disease bombs for an additional 5g.30g
The ChosenThe core of any competent Chaos legion is its ranks and ranks of armored Chosen. Rightly named and rightly feared for their mastery of melee combat.100g
The DamnedSome Chosen have selected the gifts of their patron god and go into battle with a myriad of dangerous mutations.150g
SlaughterkinThe Blood God's favored unit. Absolutely terrifying at close range. A unit can be upgraded with daemon steeds for an additional 50g.250g
PlaguekinThe Plague Father's favored unit. Shambling wells of toxins and festering sores. Noted for their insane durability, but also for their slowness. A unit can be upgraded with daemon steeds for an additional 50g.250g
PleasurekinThe Lust Prince's favored unit. Crazed by sensation, they employ bladed whips and chains. Pain is pleasure to them. A unit can be upgraded with daemon steeds for an additional 50g.250g
SorcererkinThe Mind Weaver's favored unit. Perhaps the only commonly deployed ranged units available to the legions of Chaos, they utilize magic at the cost of bloodshed and ritualistic sacrifice. A unit can be upgraded with daemonic steeds for an additional 50g.250g
GravekinThe Death Bringer's favored unit. Recognizable by their skeletal and almost wraith-like appearance as well as their speed, which outclasses most other infantry formations. They are very fragile compared to others of the Chaos war machine and are usually deployed as a surprise attack. A unit can be upgraded with daemon steeds for an additional 50g.250g
NightkinThe Void Walker's favored unit. Experienced spies and intelligence collectors, but also skilled as assassins and poison makers. A unit can be upgraded with daemon steeds for an additional 50g.250g
MadnesskinThe Endless Screamer's favored unit. Howling mad juggernauts infused with mutations until they are about to burst and sent into battle. A unit can be upgraded with daemon steeds for an additional 50g.250g
SilencekinThe Voiceless Speaker's favored unit. With their mouths stitched shut, they make their presence known on the battlefield as null pockets in magic auras, making them perfect anti-magicians as they are capable of walking through even the most dangerous spells. A unit can be upgraded with daemon steeds for an additional 50g.250g
Black Soul OgresA typical ogre party is scary enough. Now imagine one forced into slavery by the Chaos Clan, and mutated by the powers of the Dark Ones.350g
Tainted AltarA centerpiece for a more religious Chaos legion. It is where the skulls are piled up and sacrificed in order to bring the attention of the Eight Gods of Ancient Chaos to a specific battlefield, where they might bestow upon their chosen vassals gifts in the form of mutations or daemonic reinforcements.500g
Bellow of the Dark OnesA massive cannon brought forth from the most horrendous pits of the Chaos wastes. Even one shot from this monstrosity is enough to lay entire battalions low.500g
Chaos ChampionsThe elite of the elite, given the best armor and weapons, and enlightened by the most destructive elements possible. The Eight Gods of Ancient Chaos can only smile brighter upon another.600g
Children of Ultimate ChaosThe ultimate ambition of any Chaos Clan member is to ascend to daemonhood. Whether they go mad in the process is completely up to their choices in life. The Children of Ultimate Chaos are the most powerful units in the common Chaos legion - bar none.1000g

Heralds of Darkness (Ubers)

"Where walks the footfalls of doom, the Apocalypse is nigh, and the skies have turned red with the blood of the innocent. The Dark Ones have come. Eternal Chaos shall reign supreme."

  • World Eater - a massive, utterly massive, winged giant with the head of a bull and the body of a lion. Its arms are enough to heave twin battle maces that block out the sun. Its wingspan is a hurricane, and its breath is death. 2500g.
  • Sea Drinker - a leviathan of ancient proportions, wriggling out of the ocean, heaving its body on tentacles that crush villages. It leaves a trail of corrosive mucus, scarring the earth and keeping it from growing anything ever again. 2500g.
  • Soul Taker - strangely lithe, almost birdlike, and slightly taller than a normal human. It is the most mysterious of the heralds - as well as the most dangerous. 2500g.

Conquering the World - Week One

(Periodic updates inbound! Pretty much something like RAW or Smackdown! with a global twist that Blue_Marble and I were thinking about doing and finally got around to doing. Weekly subs are likely.)

The peerless momentum in his strikes chilled the air. He required no punching bag, for any presented to him would have to be replaced within minutes. He preferred to shadowbox, imagine an enemy across from him, and contend on a different level than any other. Physical limitations were ignored for the sake of the harsh training regimen. Mental obstructions are cast aside. Spiritual boundaries simply do not exist.

The lifetime goal of the small farmer boy from Russia always existed in becoming something, to rise against societal norms and inspire others. He wanted to travel the globe, meet people, explore himself and everything around him. His restless soul churned with each and every step he took in the small dojo in Rio de Janeiro. His first foreign friend - as well as one of the few human comrades he had - watched over his excessive exercising.

Dmitri Kosokov - the Red Cyclone.

Carlos de Castro Marques - the Blue Typhoon.


First came Diego Silva, the Brazilian Heavyweight Champion.

He refused to take on a "greenhorn" like Dmitri without first having some reason to accept his challenge for the title. With a mixture of resentment and stubborn pride, Dmitri began to practice relentlessly. However, Diego refused him at every turn. The Russian had almost given up when a local hero named Blue Marble stumbled upon him during a public strength exhibition. Together, they hatched a scheme to win the tag team gold. Diego would have no choice but to protect his championship belt.

Off to an admittedly rocky start, Dmitri and Carlos managed to win their first few matches not by cooperating but rather depending on their own moves to wear down the opposition in a cycling effect. Their legendary Millions Power Double Lariat would not be invented until the title bout in a tornado match held in a steel cage deathmatch.

Leonardo Costa and Rafael Montes, the Wild Jaguars, were a powerful core supported by unique metahuman powers. Leonardo commanded an extremely rubbery body. He could not stretch it, but most attacks simply didn't phase him because of his unique anatomy. Furthermore, his body could accommodate harder muscles and therefore strike at harder intervals. Meanwhile, Rafael could move at incredible speeds by manipulating time in his immediate personal space. He didn't abuse it to slow down his opponents, but rather amped up his own physical movements to appear faster than he actually was.

Because of this unique and dangerous combination, the Wild Jaguars dominated the tag team circuit with Leonardo's powerhouse blockade of muscle and Rafael's blinding acceleration. They were the perfect opposition for a young War Machine stable, which had similar properties but far less experience in terms of working together. Despite this, Dmitri and Carlos had no intentions of turning back now.

The match began with Dmitri and Leonardo squaring off, two unstoppable forces crashing in the middle of the ring and stopping dead center. The monolithic monster of a Russian eventually won out due to sheer mass, proving that even Leonardo's impressive muscular structure had difficulty contending with a man who wrestled with the mythical Krasnyy-Shelm.

A similar story unfolded as Carlos and Rafael seemed to operate on equal terms with each other for a split second before the up-and-coming icon of Brazil overtook the time-stopping racer with a clothesline from behind.

However, while Dmitri and Carlos celebrated their own personal victories, they stood apart from each other. The Wild Jaguars were already reforming their offensive push. Utilizing the steel cage, Leonardo started bouncing around like a pinball, distracting Carlos long enough for Rafael to pick off Dmitri and throw him into the barbed wire on top of the structure, lacing his arms within the coils in a bloody trap. Dmitri eventually forced himself free and caught Leonardo by the skull before he could smack Carlos around any further, giving one half of the tag team champions a taste of his own medicine by using a Jackhammer Piledriver - but to little effect.

Leonardo stood right back up and tackled Dmitri into the side of the thick fence, bending it slightly as the Russian's back met solid metal and began to bleed. The double-team offensive focused on Carlos resurfaced, but Carlos had studied the Wild Jaguars enough through backstage research and inside the ring enough to realize their one real weakness: they couldn't take on the War Machine two-for-two.

Being fast enough to outrun Rafael and evade Leonardo, Carlos started racing the faster champion around the ring, catching him in a few holds here and there. The main point was to distract Leonardo and keep Rafael - the brains of the Wild Jaguars - quiet long enough for Dmitri to recover. From there, the Russian grappled with Leonardo once more, but only to pin him in place with a few suplexes and submissions. Dmitri knew that he couldn't hurt the champion with these moves, but he wanted to play on Leonardo thinking he was stupid for a bit longer. Overconfidence built up and by knocking Dmitri into the ropes, Leonardo accidentally set up the bare bones of the War Machine's most dangerous combination.

Carlos unintentionally reappeared on the other side of the dueling duo, with Rafael seemingly cornering him. He managed to catch Dmitri's glance, signaling for an impromptu maneuver. Kicking Rafael, Carlos started charging his left arm with a blue energy. Dmitri pushed Leonardo against Rafael's back, stunning both of them in the process, while his left arm began to glow red from burning an immense number of calories through strengthening those muscles. By colliding their arms with the Wild Jaguars' heads in the middle, the War Machine won their first title match.

And Dmitri earned his chance at Diego Silva's Heavyweight Championship belt.


Due to the graphic nature of the steel cage deathmatch, the Brazilian Fighting League decided on making Dmitri's match with Diego less "gimmicky" and simply dubbed it "The Best vs The Beast," selling over 80,000 tickets for the audience in attendance. Diego actually wanted to make things a bit more "even" considering Dmitri won the tag titles just a week earlier. He participated in a surprise preliminary match against a metahuman fighter who could extend his fingers like whips. Diego suffered wounds similar to Dmitri's, but ended up defeating the jobber with little to no effort.

Later on that night, Diego returned to the ring with his wounds surprisingly healed quite efficiently. His accelerated regenerative factor was not the first Dmitri had encountered, but he was sure Diego was not the champion based on just gluing himself back together quickly. As the bell rang for the bout to commence, Diego went on the offensive first, popping Dmitri in the face with jabs reminiscent of Muhammad Ali. He wanted to anger the Russian bear, draw him in close.

With only a thin strip of padding separating knuckle from face, Dmitri endured several cuts and horrendous bruising and swelling as the fight continued. Meanwhile, Diego had no injuries to speak of. Dmitri refused to play to Diego's vicious music. He kept his distance, measured the exact nature of the punches that connected, fell to how powerful they were, discovered Diego's knockout blow, his counters, memorized every pattern etched on his face like a graffiti wall.

He remembered the Mercenary, the calm woman, and his dream of meeting them in battle again - as a changed man!

Diego went for the final blow, hitting the Russian square on the nose, shattering every bone present there, but Dmitri did not stop. He grappled with Diego at long last, and hit the Red Cyclone - finishing the match in one move.

The crowd seemed less than entertained until Dmitri helped Diego back to his feet and raised his hand. A slow clap of appreciation for the old champion as the torched was passed started to erupt from the massive audience. The fight received mixed reviews, most considered it good except for the short time: four minutes and thirteen seconds. In later interviews, Diego mentioned that he would never be satisfied until he fought Dmitri again. The Best vs The Beast II was just a matter of time, but Dmitri and Carlos had to travel to Japan first. More title gold awaited them.


The Green Tide


Ork Boyz

The Greenskin menace is a blight on the universe, a plague of aliens that threatens to drown it in violence and bloodshed
The heart and soul to an Ork warband of any size or magnitude, the Boyz form the very backbone of a Waaagh!. Though they start life as fragile life-forms with the need to be cultivated by their Gretchin cousins, the Orks quickly grow into large - an average of seven feet or more - and vicious creatures with an overwhelming urge to kill any living thing near it. Once banded together by a warlord or, Navigator forbid, an even larger Warboss, the Orks become an almost unstoppable swarm of muscle, ramshackle vehicles, and a drive to attack that overwhelms even the most deeply-rooted foe by literally drowning it in bodies and gunfire. Once they set foot on a planet, Orks are notoriously difficult to get rid of. Their very biology lends to their survival and every Ork carries with it the spores necessary for creating more Orks. These spores are unconsciously produced by an Ork throughout his lifetime, but upon death all available spores are unleashed. If the Greenskin bodies are not burned after their expiration, another full-scale Waaagh! is only a few short months away. To put into perspective just how many Orks threaten to overwhelm the Symaarian Imperium, the greatest Imperial psykers have released an official and recent update on the amount of blockage in the psychic artery of the Warp: even together, they could barely navigate through the gestalt field of interference generated by the Orks. This has lead Ork specialists to speculate that for every Symaarian, there must exist at least a thousand as many Orks.  
Stormboyz are Orks who relish in the thrill of aerial shock attacks and strap highly volatile rockets to their backs in the thuggish mindset that they will somehow carry them into the thick of battle; scary thing is, such a preposterous idea actually works.
"I CAN SEES EVERYFING!" - Nortstob Brainstabba, Bloodstompa's most powerful Weirdboy
"Let's see if dis werks..." - Loggsugg Wrenchsmacka, Bloodstompa's most trusted Mek Boy

Kult o' Speed

"Red makes it go FASTA!"
Orks who like the roar of engines and the bloody combat from aboard a roaring warbike can find a place in the Kult o' Speed, a growing sub-clan of Orks that believe in one thing: going faster than the competition. When not in battle, they contend with each other in dangerous races and "kustomize" their bikes to the point of obsession. "Speed Freaks," as they are called, are the first into battle and often the last out, due to the high improbability of an enemy hitting them because of their blinding speed. They excel at hit-and-run tactics and hit an enemy position with such force that they are ill-prepared for the swarm of Orks just behind the Speed Freaks in Wartrukks. If the battle line manages to hold, then the Speed Freaks attack again and such is the pattern until there is no more resistance. Speed Freaks almost never stop moving, their trails choked with black smoke and the smell of burning rubber. 


"We'll squish dhem scrawny See-morian gits flat, boss!"
The most basic of all Ork vehicles is the Wartrukk. Easily identifiable by its black-smoke engines, its outrageous design, and the thunderous booming of every weapon the Orks aboard one are able to cram into its slapped-together hull, the Wartrukk is a symbol of the Orks for the simple fact that it is as reliable as it is impractical. Every aspect of this vehicle makes it a match for the Imperial Chimera outside of the fact that the Orks have not quite yet mastered how to make their vehicles amphibious (which still does not stop them from trying, much to the dismay of those Gretchin who fall prey to the experiments of the Mek Boys).  

Looted Vehicles

A looted Leman Russ opens fire
The conquests of the Orks leave behind vast armadas of broken vehicles on both sides. When a Mek Boy stumbles upon this library of technology, he literally goes crazy trying to "kustomize" them as best as he is able to. These looted vehicles range from the simplest motor to the most destructive battle tank, allowing the Orks to bolster their forces as they sweep across a battlefield. Unavoidably, these vehicles are not as reliable as their original counterparts and it is a gutsy Ork indeed who takes on the task of driving a looted Imperial Hellhound, its napalm engines visibly leaking and every second passing making it closer to a bomb on treads than a device of war. The more skilled Mek, however, the tougher and more "Orky" the looted vehicles become and, therefore, the deadlier they are.  

Killa Kans/Deff Dreads

A Killa Kan of one of the Goff Clans under Bloodstompa's banner makes its ponderous approach into battle
Nothing more than a crude mockery of Imperial walkers, the Killa Kans and Deff Dreads of the Greenskin hordes are strange and terrifying constructs. A mass of whirring blades, snipping hydraulics, and creaking limbs may lead some to mistake it for fragile - but nothing could be further from the truth. The Kans and Dreads are among the toughest foes faced by Imperial armies, vehicles that - while slow - take enormous amounts of punishment and still have enough juice to tear through an enemy formation like a hot knife to butter. Killa Kans are smaller than their Dread cousins and are piloted by crazed Gretchin hot-wired into the navigation system. The Deff Dreads are much larger and are known to actually cause notable damage rather than panic and mayhem like the smaller Kans, possessing twice as many arms and piloted by an Ork whose lust for violence is too great to be limited by having just two hands.  


"Dhis'll be da best fight o' dheir miserable lives..." - Bloodstompa shortly before unleashing Wrenchsmaka's Gargants and overwhelming the Ferravian "Fighting Dogs" on Sigmas XII
There are two types of Gargants, small versions called "Stompas" and the walking idols to Gork and Mork actually called the "Gargants." A Stompa is the lifetime achievement of a Mek Boy, the pinnacle of his destructive little mind focusing on the only task Orks can focus on: fighting. A Mek Boy creates a Stompa in the hopes that it will lead the Waaagh! into a new battlefield on a new planet or even carry it into battles across entire systems of space. Loaded with weapons too crude and malicious to describe, a Stompa is usually the last Ork unit to stagger into battle due to its sheer size. Trembling under an unrelenting Ork advance, those who face the Stompas are already too tired and weakened to face it alone. This is where the God-Machines of the Navigator's Holy Collegia Titanica walk to war, and where the Gargants take over. Towering over anything else an Ork can put on solid ground, a Gargant is the end result of months of collaboration by several dozen Mek Boyz. If they manage to get along for that amount of time, substantial work can be put into a Gargant. Matching the great War Titans of the Imperium foot-for-foot in height, a Gargant duels the Titan for supremacy while the battle rages some several hundred feet below.They are the single most destructive units Orks can construct on their own, the most brilliant innovations of their greatest Mek minds, and the single most potent fear in the hearts of Imperial leaders: a beacon for the Orks to unite under.  
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